


Fall From the Summit

by miraakcultist



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Copious uses of Dovahzul, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Masturbation, Miraak Lives, Miraak is Self Conscious, Miscommunication, Slow Burn, THIS FIC IS NOT DEAD I KNOW ITS BEEN A YEAR AND IM AWFUL BUT IT WONT BE ABANDONED!!!!! (aug 2018), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink, Why wont ao3 let me edit these tags damn it, alternate ending to ‘at the summit of apocrypha’, story begins between the end of ‘alduin’s bane’ and the beginning of ‘the fallen’
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraakcultist/pseuds/miraakcultist
Summary: Nephthys, the Last Dragonborn, knows she cannot face Alduin alone. She decides to take the risky route and breaks Miraak out of Apocrypha, hoping that two Dragonborns will be better than one against the World-Eater.She expects the bickering, the rivalry, and even the insults that come.What she doesn't expect is how Miraak tests her self-control in more ways than those.





	1. Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> SOOOO... I've been cooking up this baby for a while. It's not finished yet, but I have 15-maybe-18 chapters planned and 5 of them are done, and I'll be posting them slowly as I write new ones.
> 
> Just a warning, before you read this. There are some... things here that aren't lore friendly probably:  
> Nahkriin is found at a location other than Skuldafn (I won't go into details cause it's more trouble than it's worth), hence why Nephthys has Konahrik BEFORE facing Alduin in Sovngarde (I thought it was cooler ok it's so much more badass COME ON).  
> Neph has a breton dad and a dunmer mom, and because I don't like Todd's view on how mixed races should be like, she is pretty much half elf half human (yes, this is mostly bc of her eyes, IT WAS A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS shut u p)  
> Magic doesn't make sense here, ok. It's magic. I do not care about the lore, the canon limitations, IT HAPPENS FOR THE SAKE OF OF THE FIC. Let me LIVE.  
> Miraak might get a little mellow as the story progresses
> 
> Last but not least, I'm dedicating the posting of this fic to my beautiful friend daria @ denythem.tumblr.com because she's been encouraging me ever since she got the First Look at this fic and i love her tHANKS BABE for believing in me

“Alright, that _does it,_ ” Sharenius said, taking a seat beside Nephthys at the long wooden table. He gestured vaguely, hands raised as if in surrender. “Talk to me.”

Sharenius had seemed content enough with leaning on the window and listening to her from afar, but, apparently, her last question was the final straw. To what exactly, Nephthys was not sure.

“Look, Serethis, you are my friend, and I love you, but _sometimes_ ,” he spoke when Nephthys did not reply. “You spout such… _nonsense_ , I… I cannot even begin to try and understand your thoughts!”

Nephthys did not bother to raise her eyes from the Oghma Infinium when she gave her curt reply:

“What _exactly_ is so difficult to understand, Sharenius?”

Sharenius, sitting beside her, now gestured with his hands above his head, as if requesting Divine intervention. Lydia and Teldryn were still too busy in conversation with each other to notice his exasperation, and Serana was likewise occupied with a book and Nephthys’s black kitten on her lap. Jarl Whiskers was understandably skittish around the eldritch books of Hermaeus Mora, so he’d gone to the _other_ vampire necromancer for his daily affection quota.

Nephthys only dedicated a small part of her attention to Sharenius’s current tantrum. Her will was too focused on Mora’s artifact, and she had been working on it for what felt like hours. She had to be careful to avoid any accidental absorption of its raw knowledge to prevent the book’s destruction.

Not that Nephthys wasn’t _tempted_ to read it and acquire the power contained within. The pages of the Oghma Infinium called to her inner scholar, and she often had to use the meditation technique Paarthurnax had taught her to clear her judgment. After all, her intention was to learn how to unlock its _nature_ , not its contents. It was a much more important task, and she knew it.

“Serethis, are you even listening to me?” Sharenius’s hoarse Cyrodiilic accent interrupted her thoughts again, this time sounding irritated.

Nephthys rolled her eyes and slowly pried herself away from the book.

“What is it this time?”

The elf narrowed his shimmering eyes at her, incredulity on all features of his face.

“Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m in a mood for jests, Sharenius? Just say what you have to say.”

“ _Fine_ ,” her companion spat, fuming. “I’d like to know _what in Oblivion_ has gotten into you!”

Nephthys raised a questioning brow.

“You will have to elaborate.”

“When you said we were going to Solstheim to _deal_ with Miraak – the guy who ordered some fetchers to _kill_ you, if I may remind you – it was very clear to all of us that your intentions were _not_ ‘magicking’ his way out of Apocrypha! What changed, Serethis?”

For a second, Nephthys considered simply rolling her eyes at Sharenius, and snap at him for being so thick. How could he be asking her questions about something she had _already_ explained?

Then, she realized his confusion was warranted.

Nephthys _had not_ explained it to him yet. She had not spoken about it to any of her allies.

_“…shit.”_

In her anxiety, she had forgotten the very reason she insisted they come to Castle Volkihar after they left Solstheim. Nephthys tensed up in embarrassment, and ran her hand over her face.

_“Bloody pile of guar shit!”_

She took a long moment of hesitation to process _how she could have been obtuse enough to forget telling them_. Worse yet, she had almost blamed Sharenius for not knowing something she had not even spoken about!

However, instead of wallowing in self-guilt and awkwardness, Nephthys decided she had to remedy the miscommunication. With all the frenzy going on inside her head, it was no surprise that that had happened. All she had to do was _tell_ them, and it would all be made clear.

_“Right?”_

They would understand.

_“…Wouldn’t they?”_

“I… appear to have, ah, _overlooked_ … a few things,” she began, carefully, shutting her insecurity away. “Hey, people?” she called aloud to the rest of her companions. “Join me at the table. There is something we must discuss.”

The battlemaiden interrupted her conversation with the mercenary. Both companions shrugged and took seats near the two dunmer. Serana took a while longer to claim her place with them, since she had a few books of her own to put away, and Nephthys knew from experience how difficult it was to get Jarl Whiskers to come down one’s lap after he had made himself comfortable.

“What is it, friend?” Serana was the first to ask, oblivious to the previous conversation between the other two vampires. Lydia and Teldryn remained quiet, equally unaware. All the while, Sharenius himself had crossed his arms and taken on a skeptical posture towards Nephthys, staring at her behind narrowed eyes, and looking remarkably like a sullen youth.

Clearly, that talk would be a difficult one.

Jarl Whiskers suddenly jumped on the table, darting away from the unholy Daedric artifacts and going straight to Nephthys’s lap. At least _someone_ would support her, she mused, stroking the cat’s shiny black fur.

“I… I could not talk about this in Solstheim,” the Dragonborn began, measuring her words with care. “Hermaeus Mora’s influence… You must understand… I couldn’t… it would have put _everything_ at risk. By the Nine, I could barely _think_ there without feeling him _prying_ into my mind. But this is Molag Bal’s ground, and Mora cannot reach me here.”

When Nephthys raised her eyes again to look back on her companions, she saw she had their full attention.

“I’m not going to kill Miraak,” she said, and that earned her raised brows and wide eyes from everyone at the table. Sharenius was quick to answer to that:

“Serethis, are you _serious_? Akatosh help me! You wanted to kill him the moment you read his name on those fools’ orders!”

“That was _before_ I met him in Apocrypha.”

“What difference does that even make?”

“It makes all the difference,” Nephthys said, adamant on making her point. “Let me explain, and you’ll understand. This… This isn’t something I thought of lightly. By the pit, I actually hate the idea, but… it’s my best option for… for Alduin.”

Upon looking at the astonished expressions their friends wore while staring at her, Nephthys sighed. “ _Madness and fireblood,”_ she thought, _“I’ve faced dragons, undead, and daedra, and now I’m afraid of facing my friends. Pitiful, Nephthys. Just pitiful…”_

“You were all there at the _Monahven_ ,” she said, drawing confidence from the righteousness of her motivations. “You remember how we barely escaped with our life. How Alduin’s power almost overwhelmed me, even though I had you all beside me. What do you think would happen if I face him in Sovngarde now, where none of you can accompany me?”

The silence from her companions gave Nephthys some breathing room before she continued to speak.

“I truly loathe admitting it, but I am _not_ strong enough to face the World Eater alone. Not even with the weapons I have now. Not even with Konahrik , or the new Shouts I know. But Miraak is _Dragonborn_. A _powerful_ Dragonborn. The two of us together… With his might and mine, with our knowledge combined – we would have a greater chance to fall Alduin.”

After Nephthys spilled the essentials of it, she sunk back into her seat, surprised her voice hadn’t broken. Serana and Sharenius both looked restless, wanting to speak but unsure if Nephthys was finished. Lydia and Teldryn usually remained passive to Nephthys’s antics, but even they had doubt written on their faces.

“I did want retribution for the attacks on my life,” Nephthys explained. “I meant to learn his motivations, and then slay him. I… I had thought it all some power hungry madman’s plan – Divines know how many lunatics we’ve encountered. I wanted my vengeance, but then… when I met him in person...”

Jarl Whiskers chose that moment to purr happily on her lap. Nephthys used the opportunity to direct her gaze to the little kitten, curled into a black fur ball, so she would avoid the scrutiny of her friends’ disbelieving stare.

“When I was there, with him… When I heard his _Thu’um_ and saw how he reacted at my presence… After that, I could only think about how _none_ of it made sense. Then, I realized… it was likely he was not the one to orchestrate the attempt on my life.”

Nephthys could _feel_ their skepticism upon hearing her words. In spite of her anxiety gnawing at her mind and spitting insecure nonsense into her thoughts, the only thing she could do was continue. Making her point heard was the best chance she would have at convincing her companions of the truth in her words.

“Did any of you _actually_ listen to me when I complained about Hermaeus Mora?”

“Hard not to,” Teldryn mumbled, smirking.

“I meant whether any of you _paid attention_ to my words,” Nephthys said, half annoyed at the comment, but half relieved to know at least Teldryn was relaxed enough to find humor in the situation. “After we helped Septimus… You saw how that thing spoke to me. Hermaeus Mora wants to make me his new ‘ _champion_ ,’ and I see why now. I was mistaken in thinking he wanted me solely for my own power. It’s not his only reason. He wants _me_ because Miraak is no longer within his grasp, and seeks to escape him.”

“And what exactly does that _mean_? For you? For us?” Sharenius urged, even if he was not as restless as before.

Nephthys finally raised her eyes back to her friends.

“Miraak is no fool. I doubt he would genuinely believe his cultists had _any_ chance of taking my life if he knew about me. At best, they would call my attention to him, and I would take the assassination attempt as a challenge – _exactly as I did_. Now, what does Miraak gain from a challenge from me?”

“Your… soul? If he kills you?” Lydia suggested.

“He did not want my soul before I destroyed his shrines.”

“But he wants it now.”

“Yes. Although taking it is a plan he made only because I disrupted his original strategy. Miraak did not even recognize me as his supposed ‘target’ when I met him in Apocrypha. He was surprised to see I was Dragonborn; he lacked the- the _conviction_ of facing one’s arch-nemesis. I can’t explain it, but… I feel like he was not expecting me at all.”

“So, he didn’t _know_ who you were?” Lydia asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“It seemed so.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, sera,” Teldryn said, “I saw the cultists’ orders. We all did. It was clear as day he was the one to give them.”

“Was he? Then why pretend not to know me, if he sent them?” Nephthys insisted. “Why did he not kill me in Apocrypha? He had me paralyzed and on the ground.”

“Alright, Serethis, I’ll bite,” Sharenius said. “If it wasn’t Miraak, then who do you think sent the cultists?”

“The only one that benefits from this situation.”

“ _You will have to elaborate_ ,” the elf said in mock of her previous sentence.

Nephthys rolled her eyes.

“Think long and hard, Sharenius.”

“I _always_ think long and hard.”

“ _Pit and fireblood_ ,” she groaned while Teldryn and Lydia snickered along the assassin. Nephthys cleared her throat and stared at them until she had their attention once more.

“All Miraak gained from me was my interference on his plans. I would not have even known about his _thing_ with the All-Maker stones if I hadn’t gone back to Solstheim with the sole purpose of investigating _him_. So, who benefits from Miraak’s attempt to escape Apocrypha being thwarted? Who would be glad to see me foil Miraak’s plan to be rid of Mora? Who has been constantly _chasing me_ no matter what I do to evade him?”

“ _Oh_.”

“Yes, Sharenius,” said Nephthys. “ _‘Oh’._ ”

“You think… You think Hermaeus Mora sent the cultists to _lure_ you,” Serana continued the line of thought, understanding dawning on the soft features of her pale face.

“That actually… makes sense,” Lydia added, a smile curling her lips. “I remember you said something about Hermaeus Mora telling you that, without his power, you couldn’t defeat Miraak.”

“How could I forget?” Teldryn said, groaning. “We had to endure an hour-walk to Raven Rock while you whined on and on about Daedric Princes wanting to make you their plaything.”

“I didn’t _whine_ , I had every right to be angry!”

“So,” Sharenius interrupted, drawing the syllable longer than necessary, “can we get back to the whole ‘being manipulated by a Daedric Prince to do his bidding’ thing?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Nephthys said promptly. “I believe he has led me to Solstheim to take what I have been refusing him. Miraak grows restless and seeks escape. Mora wants me as his new pet. It’s not hard to see the fire rune in front of me. If I go along, if I kill Miraak… Hermaeus Mora will force me to take Miraak’s place. This is as much about myself as it is about Alduin, to be completely honest.”

“So, all this stuff you were asking me earlier?” Sharenius eyed her intently, head cocked to the side and curiosity evident on his face. “About sigil stones, Oblivion Gates… You want to open some kind of portal to break him out?”

Nephthys nodded, taking the Oghma Infinium in her hand.

“You told me that, back when the Crisis was happening and the gates opened, they served as anchors to the Deadlands. That, when you removed the stone, it closed the gate and forced you out.”

“Yes, but the sigil stones were part of _Mehrunes Dagon’s_ realm,” Sharenius said, and Nephthys could not help but notice the sheer scorn his voice had when he said the Prince’s name. “How would that help you in Apocrypha?

“It’s still a part of Oblivion. There are some… _tricks_ … I could use. I can cleanse it of Dagon’s influence, and use Hermaeus Mora’s blood to ‘fool’ the stone into being tied to his realm, then anchor it to Apocrypha once I’m there. It would simulate the existence of a gate for a short while. Once the connection is made, the sigil stone would act as anchor. If I use a foothold in Solstheim, severing the connection would result in us being forced out of the realm.”

“Would that even _work_?” Sharenius asked, a skeptical brow raised in her direction. “After Mar-, I mean, after the Oblivion Crisis ended, the barriers between this world and Oblivion were restored. No portals to Tamriel can be made, and nothing can bypass that.”

“You’re not wrong, but you’re not right either. Portals _can_ be opened, but daedra cannot leave Oblivion. Only mortals can use those passages. Unless Miraak has _somehow_ become a daedroth, which I doubt, we would both be able to use a portal to leave Apocrypha.”

“Hmm,” the other elf replied. “You know how bizarre it feels to be lectured on this? I was _there._ For the whole thing. _”_

“Yes, yes,” Teldryn scoffed. “You’ve already told us all about your tragic romance with the Emperor.”

At that, Sharenius glared at the other dunmer, who only smirked in response. Nephthys averted her eyes from the sight, as the last time the two elves had an argument, she’d heard their angry sex from her room. Lydia, bless her timely intervention, decided it was a good time to stand up, and the drag of her chair on the stone ground broke the silent staring contest between Teldryn and Sharenius.

“Well. I’m not sure I entirely agree with you, Neph, but it is your choice. If you need me, I’ll be by your side, my Thane.”

“Well, I always knew you were a bit crazy, outlander,” Teldryn said in his mischievous drawl. “I suppose nothing I say will change your mind, so, if you need me, I’ll be here also. I’ll warn you, though; my knowledge of the arcane is limited to what can burn my foes to a crisp.”

Serana, meanwhile, had reached into her satchel with haste, and placed a few books on the table.

“I can’t say I like the idea, Nephthys. It is a dangerous plan, but… very bold. I’ll help where I can. My mother has some things that might help. Her journals and some research material about realms of Oblivion. There are more in her study, but these are the most important.”

Sharenius smiled at Nephthys even as he pretended to look frustrated.

“Well, I guess I will sacrifice part of my collection of sigil stones for you, then.”

“I’ll need some Varla stones too, most likely,” Nephthys grinned back at her friend as she replied, “and Welkynd stones. You do have some, don’t you?”

“The lengths I’ll go for you, my sweetling,” he said, placing a hand over his chest while wearing an overly dramatic expression of heartbreak. “I cannot _believe-_ wait, what do you need Welkynd stones for?”

“I’m thinking of fusing some together to augment their raw potential, and use the power to link the sigil stone to other anchoring points. Once its nature has been shifted, of course. If I can use it draw out raw magicka in the same shape as soul threads, I could mimic certain necromancy spells that-”

This time, Sharenius’s whimper was genuine.

“Mara’s tits, just don’t blow yourself up, yes?” he said, reaching into his knapsack and taking from it a small enchanted box.

Nephthys felt herself become warm with the devotion of her companions. Even if they didn't fully agree with her line of thoughts, they were willing to follow her anyway.

Sometimes, Nephthys wondered if that was what having a real family was supposed to feel like.


	2. Upon the Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha.”_

When they were back in Solstheim, much later, Nephthys took great care _not_ to think about the plan as much as she could, keeping it hidden in the depths of her mind. She hoped that the hold Molag Bal had over her would be strong enough to ward off Hermaeus Mora’s prying influence for the time being. 

She and her companions had spent weeks inside Castle Volkihar. Serana and Nephthys occasionally left for Valerica’s study to grab some more books. Valerica herself had been more than helpful, and her knowledge of the Dark Arts and Oblivion sped the process of forming the outline of a ritual.

All the while, Sharenius had made sure to bring her some bottled blood every day. Lydia and Teldryn had also come by her room often, finding it littered with books, artifacts, and all sorts of enchanted paraphernalia. The pair had had to physically pry her away from all the mess more than once, forcing her take a break from work, and, despite her stubbornness, Nephthys was glad they did so.

Finally, thanks to the extensive research, the sigil stone now shone an ominous green, hidden inside the satchel tied to her belt. The Varla stones and the fused Welkynd stones were stashed together in the same satchel, the inevitable clinking sounds accompanying Nephthys’s steps.

Now, inside Miraak’s Temple, she held Waking Dreams with apprehensive gauntleted hands. She’d chosen to wear her full black and indigo heavy armor to face the First Dragonborn in Apocrypha, her swaying black cape neatly stuck to the spiked spalders.

She also had the Staff of Magnus and Konahrik with her, as well as her two preferred daggers stuck to her belt. If things did not go as she planned, she would need all the power she had at her disposal to fight Miraak. Nephthys supposed that, should things go that route, it would at least serve as a training exercise for what was to come.

Sighing, she finally opened Waking Dreams, reading its first page. Soon, she fell into the almost familiar trance, hearing the otherworldly hum that meant her body was being enveloped in the thick tentacles her friends described, usually in horror, whenever she came back to herself after reading a Black Book.

It did not take long for Nephthys to feel her arrival to Apocrypha and breathe its dry air. Were it not for vampirism, the cold would be far more noticeable – another gift from Molag Bal that allowed deviance against Hermaeus Mora. Perhaps Nephthys would miss being a vampire, after all.

The Dragonborn mage took a moment to consider the massive Summit of Apocrypha in the distance, towering before her. Looking up, she could discern the shape of a couple dragons flying on the eerie chartreuse sky of the realm, and, if Nephthys focused, she could hear their roaring _Thu’um_ as well.

She had no doubts Miraak was _there_.

Her fist tightened its grasp on the Staff of Magnus as Nephthys made her way to the next chapter of Waking Dreams, silently hoping that she could keep the number of times getting lost to a _minimum_.

Making her way through Apocrypha, she grew apprehensive at first. Despite her determination, Nephthys had some trouble processing just _how_ she might be able to reach the Summit, but figured that she would come across _some_ plan if she delved deep enough into the book.

Despite her silent prayer, she did get lost. Twice. However, Nephthys trusted the waste of time to be too small to make much difference in the end.

A dozen Seekers and one Lurker later, she had four strange books and a rather straightforward enigma to solve. After placing the books on the correct pedestals, the portal to the final chapter materialized before her.

The weight of the satchel tied to her belt felt as heavy as the world when she continued forth.

Her heavy steps because louder in anticipation, as her instincts flared with the end’s approach. Nephthys barely noticed her own fight with the Seekers guarding an eerie structure resembling a Word Wall. She could only pay attention to the quickening leading to the inevitable.

After the Seekers were dead, Nephthys managed to quiet that irritating inner voice and approach the structure, seeing that, yes, it was a Word Wall, even if it looked… eldritch. The second after she read the _rotmulaag_ contained within to learn it, a raging roar thundered above her.

Turning quickly, she noticed the massive serpentine dragon diving towards her.

Sahrotaar landed and the platform shook with his weight. Nephthys barely had time or will to put up a ward against the breath of fire in her direction, and it broke the instant the fire hit it.

“ _Shor’s prick!”_ Even with the armor, the intensity of the pain… _That_ was one of things she would definitively _not_ miss about vampirism.

Directing her masked gaze towards the _dovah_ , she raised the Staff of Magnus towards his open maw and shot a beam of magicka inside, causing a pained growl from the beast. 

“ _GOL… HAH DOV!”_ cried her _Thu’um_ towards the dragon before he could recover from the hit.

It was not the first time Nephthys had tried to bend the will of a _dovah,_ but she still felt surprised when Sahrotaar’s demeanor towards her all but changed completely. 

“Hail, _thuri_ ,” he said, in a strangely cheery tone. “Your thu'um has been mastered. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak,” the _dovah_ lowered his sinuous scaled neck, inviting Nephthys.

That was it.

All those weeks in the castle, and all her time in Apocrypha… it had all been building up to this.

The Dragonborn climbed on Sahrotaar’s neck and held onto his larger scales tightly as he took flight. Nephthys much preferred to ride Durnehviir over other dragons, as he was far gentler when getting off the ground, but found it was relatively easy to ride the serpentine _dovah_ , despite the turmoil growing in her entrails.

Said _dovah_ was apparently in an unfortunate chatty mood.

“Your thu'um is stronger than Miraak's. _Vobalaan in_... I serve you now.”

“Just take me to him,” the mage said in haste.

“Of course, _dovahkiin_. Miraak has forced me to serve him for too long,” the dovah said mid-flight, not taking the hint. “ _Nahkriin saraan lingrah_. Let us destroy him together.”

Nephthys could only grunt in response. She could easily command Sahrotaar to be quiet, but her stomach was getting sensitive because of the ride, and, considering her face was confined behind a heavy mask, she thought it best to avoid opening her mouth. Dragon riding… was not as fun as it looked.

Soon enough, Nephthys saw the towering summit approach. Her thoughts raced with “ _Miraak won’t listen_ ”, “ _will the ritual even work?”_ and _“he knows, he knows, he knows!”_

“Beware,” the dragon warned, breaking the silence again and pulling her off her mental anguish. “Miraak is strong. He knew you would come here.”

Nephthys released her breath the second the _dovah_ finally landed. She eagerly jumped off, ignoring Miraak’s pointed approach towards her; all she wanted to do at that very moment was to get her feet in firmer holdings than the damnable _air_.

“Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?” Miraak scolded, though his frustration seemed blended with amusement. The _dovah_ ignored his former master, taking flight again. 

The other dragons quickly turned their heads to the intruder, showing their sharp teeth and ready to give voice to their silent threats. Quite literally.

“No. Not yet. We should greet our _guest_ first.”

Miraak turned his masked face to Nephthys at last, and she stared back.

The man looked just as he did when she had first met him. The same ragged dirty robes, the same golden mask. The same tall, bulky frame underneath the cloth and armor. The same… _imposing voice_. 

_“No. No, don’t think about the voice.”_

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha.”

He approached in slow, heavy steps, the sound echoing throughout the cold air. Nephthys remained unmoving and unyielding, her concealed eyes focused on the dark slits of Miraak’s mask.

“No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended,” Miraak continued idly, his gloved hand on the hilt of his bizarre tentacle blade. “He is a fickle master, you know.”

“Then you realize he is playing us both?” echoed Nephthys’s surprised reply. If he were aware of the treachery, then perhaps convincing him to join her would be less difficult than she first thought.

“Evidently. But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over.”

“Fighting is not the only means to that, First Dragonborn,” she began, but it was lost on him.

“You are here in your full power, and thus, subject to _my_ full power,” said Miraak. “You _will_ die, and with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim, and be master of my own fate once again.”

At that, Miraak called upon his dragons and battle commenced. The shadows of Kruziikrel and Relonikiv, circling the summit as they hovered above, chased Sahrotaar’s distinctive serpentine shape as the two smaller figures below prepared to fight one another.

Nephthys focused and readied a ward in one hand, the Staff of Magnus held tightly on the other.

“There is another way, Miraak, a _better_ way, if you’ll just listen to me-”

“… _TOOR SHUL_!”

Nephthys’s ward was strong enough to hold against the blast of fire aimed towards her, but it still caused her to falter. His Voice was extraordinarily strong, the sheer intensity of his _Thu’um_ sent shivers down her entire body. The First Dragonborn was powerful indeed.

If only she could get him to be on _her_ side…

“This is the only way, Dragonborn,” Miraak replied, resolute. “The only way I can be free.”

Lightning flew from his hands in Nephthys’s direction, but, once more, her ward protected her. She made quick mental note to thank Colette for the spellbook again.

“It’s _not_ ,” Nephthys all but growled, her patience being drained along with her magicka, and she dropped the ward momentarily. “Stop this foolishness, Miraak, I don’t _want_ to kill you.”

“Then this will be over soon... for you,” he said in reply, following it with a breath of frost.

The bite of the cold caught Nephthys by surprise; even with vampirism, the magic stung deeply with the power of his Voice. In her rage, she decided to give him a taste of her own _Thu’um_ at last. If she had to wound him to make her point, so be it.

“ _GAAN… LAH HAS!”_

She heard a muffled agonized groan when the draining shout affected Miraak, but he was fast to respond by slashing at her with his sword, and casting a bolt of shock with his free hand.

“You think that’s lightning? I’ll show you _lightning_ ,” the mage taunted under her breath as she unleashed a shock nova in his direction.She took a small pleasure to see him stagger, but Miraak was, once again, quick to recover.

“ _YOL… TOOR SHUL!_ ”

This time, the fire caught her unguarded, and Nephthys screeched when the flames prickled at her skin.

“You could have been mighty, if fate had decreed otherwise,” Miraak said, a mocking tone lacing his otherwise solemn statement.

“Fate? You speak of _fate_ in _his_ realm? Hermaeus Mora will _never_ allow your plan to come to fruition, you have to know that!”

Miraak cast more lighting towards her in fury, only for it to impact her ward. 

“Don’t dare! Listen to me, you fool!” she snarled, Konahrik making her irate voice echo through the air.

Miraak only continued to throw more sparks of shock her way, with the occasional hit of his sword striking her greaves.

Nephthys’s gradual irritation, then, reached its peak. With little thought about it, she walked towards Miraak in haste, a ward up absorbing the shock from his spell. It wavered, but did not break when he gave Voice to another fire breath, and did not even falter when he started to cast lightning bolts again.

When she was finally close enough, Nephthys gripped her staff with both hands and shoved its shaft at Miraak. Due to her lack of physical strength, the act barely staggered the much taller and bulkier man. However, her outburst surprised Miraak, who remained motionless, without reaction, for a moment.

“I did _not_ come here for this,” she said, pointing at him with the staff before putting it away. “I came here to make you an offer. Accept it and you might live, refuse it, and Mora will have us both.”

“You underestimate me, Dragonborn-” he began, readying his sword.

“ _RII… VAAZ ZOL_!” she shouted, aware that Soul Tear would not have its true effect on Miraak… Nevertheless, the pain of having her _Thu’um_ gnaw at his soul would certainly make her point heard.

“Pay attention to my words, _First Dragonborn_ , or so help me,” Nephthys said quickly, hoping that the shock from Soul Tear would hold him off enough for her to _say it_. “I have the means to break you out of here if we do this quickly, but I-”

“I do not want your _help_ , Dragonborn!” Miraak snapped, “I am master of my own fate!”

“Indeed,” she said, unamused. “I can see how well that’s been working for you.”

At that reply, Nephthys earned the paralyzing shock spell Miraak first used on her. This time, however, she resisted the paralysis, despite the effect the sparks had on her magicka pool.

A duel of lightning ensued between the two Dragonborns then, both of them warded as they cast thunderbolts at one another. Ultimately, Miraak’s ward broke first, and Nephthys took the opportunity to use the rest of her magicka, which was rapidly draining, to cast one of her more powerful spells, enveloping Miraak in a dome of sparks and bolts that eventually forced him to the ground.

“ _FEIM… ZII GRON!_ ”

Nephthys watched, almost incredulous, as Miraak escaped her shock trap in his ethereal shape, and then used his Voice on one of his dragons.

“Kruziikrel! _Zii los dii du!_ ”

Astonished, Nephthys watched as he absorbed Kruziikrell’s soul with his _Thu’um_ , using the power within to heal most of his wounds.

“You are strong,” he admitted, voice reluctant and full of resent while he healed himself. “Stronger than I believed possible. The Greybeards taught you well.”

Nephthys narrowed her eyes behind Konahrik.

“Yet you trust you’re going to slay me and take my soul?”

“Fate decreed that you had to die so that I could win my freedom. _VEN… GAAR NOS!_ ”

The force of Miraak’s cyclone took Nephthys unguarded, and she was pushed far from the platform, falling.

To her further shock, Miraak summoned her back before she fell into the repulsive waters of Apocrypha.

“You cannot flee me, Dragonborn!”

“You were the one who fucking pushed me off, s’wit!” 

Unaffected by her reply, Miraak cast another bolt of shock at Nephthys, who favored dodging it physically rather than putting up a ward.

“You cannot slay me, Miraak. _He_ won’t let you,” Nephthys said in a growl, her voice magnified to a booming roar by the enchanted mask. “He wants me to kill you, but I won’t. I won’t become his next _pet_.”

“Do not concern yourself with Hermaeus Mora, Dragonborn. You are in _my_ power here.”

Another fire breath Shout was sent her way, passing through her armor and going straight for her flesh. Nephthys pointedly ignored the pain from the burn in favor of switching her hands to a healing spell.

“Do you truly think… _you_ have any power… in _his_ realm _?”_ Nephthys spat, letting the spell heal her wounds.

“And _you_ do?”

“He has his tendrils buried inside your soul,” said Nephthys, ignoring his reply, “and I’m offering to break you from his hold!”

“And you would do that from the kindness of your pure heart, Dragonborn?” Miraak mocked, readying his staff at the same time Nephthys picked her own back up.

The beam from the Staff of Magnus hit Miraak at the center of his chest before he could properly aim his own abomination of a weapon at her. When he staggered due to the raw magicka hitting him, Nephthys used to opportunity to step closer to the First Dragonborn once more.

“Of course not. There is something I want from you.”

“I will not be _your_ servant any more than I want to be his!” Miraak replied, sending a spray of squirming tentacles from his staff, the _bloody things_ slashing at her boots and greaves and managing to bite at her flesh.

“Not a servant, you _fool_ ,” she said exasperated, trying to ignore the stings on her legs. “I want you to face Alduin beside me in Sovngarde!”

“They wanted to use me to deal with Alduin. Hakon and the rest. _I_ chose otherwise. What makes you think I would choose differently for _you_?”

“Because, Akatosh’s beard, you cannot be obtuse enough to think your little ‘steal soul, force self out of Apocrypha’ plan is a good idea _._ You will die, Miraak, and for nothing! Even if by some _miracle_ you succeeded, you cannot hope to face the World Eater alone. You’d die all the same. Your plan _won’t work_. _”_

“And I suppose _yours_ is a better one?” he said in mockery, but Nephthys noticed he did not attack her again.

“You are a superior _dovah_ than I,” she said, lowering her staff, “but I am the greater mage.”

With her free hand, Nephthys reached into her satchel and took the eldritch sigil stone, showing it to Miraak. Its tainted power hummed eerily on her hand, drawing vibrations from the Ayleid stones inside the satchel.

“I have constructed a ritual that can send us both out of here and sever your connection to Apocrypha completely. But we must be quick. I ask that you trust me.”

“ _Trust_ you?” Miraak spat. “From the very moment you set foot on Solstheim, you were interested in nothing but my defeat.”

“I was lured here under false pretenses. I thought…,” she began, unsure of how much she should tell. After all, she _could_ be wrong. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I don’t want to slay you if you can be of use to me. Alduin is a foe I am _not_ ready to face alone. Together, we have a greater chance to defeat him.” 

“And after the World Eater is slain, what then?” Miraak asked, and though his voice was aggressive, Nephthys sensed his concern. It seemed as if he was actually considering her offer. “Would you finish that which you are unwilling to end today?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “We go our separate ways. I would not make you my enemy without provocation on your part first.”

Both _dovahkiin_ had a moment of hesitation then. Miraak slowly lowered his staff further, and his stance became less violent.

“Your ritual. Are you certain it will work?”

Before she could build a reply that was not “ _I don’t bloody know, it’s not like I could hop in Apocrypha to bloody test it!”_ an overwhelming feeling of dread shrouded her. Looking at Miraak, she saw that he felt it as well.

“How interesting… Dragonborn…” the familiar drawl thundered above.

Both Miraak and Nephthys looked up immediately to find a mass of eyes and tentacles staring down at them.

“You managed to keep this… _little secret_ … well hidden. I suppose… Molag Bal has a stronger hold on you than I anticipated.”

Nephthys felt Miraak’s gaze fall on her for a brief moment before Mora spoke again.

“Despite that… your efforts were in vain. You cannot change your fate, Dragonborn. Neither of you can.”

“Enough, _demon_ ,” Nephthys spat. She quickly reached into her satchel again, taking two Varla stones in one hand, both corrupted with the taint of Apocrypha. She looked pointedly at Miraak. “Decide now, First Dragonborn. Agree to my deal or die in vain.”

“You cannot hope… to bypass _me_ further, in my own realm,” came Mora’s booming voice from above, as deadly tentacles sprout from all across the platform, threatening to stab the Dragonborns. “I may have missed your secrets… But none can escape _me_ in _Apocrypha_.”

They dodged the incoming attacks best they could, and Nephthys darted away from a sprouting tentacle just as she heard Miraak use Whirlwind Sprint to approach her. 

“Fine. This is senseless, but I will join you.”

She nodded to him, and shoved one of the Varla stones to his hands.

“Good. Take this to the end of the platform and stick it somewhere. Meet me back here when it’s in place.”

Her own run towards the other end of the summit was a blur. Her calves were prickled by the whipping tentacles more than once, but she could not stop. When the stone was in place, she sprinted back towards the center, and retrieved the fused Welkynd stones from her satchel. 

Nephthys saw Miraak approaching, and, at that moment, Hermaeus Mora seemed to have lost what little patience he had left.

“Mortal _fools…_ You cannot deceive _me_ here. _I_ command this realm... Face my Keeper, Dragonborns… And learn your place once and for all.”

The next moment, the ferocious tentacles retroceded, leaving Nephthys apprehensive as to what Mora had planned to unleash upon them. But the ritual items were in already place, Nephthys just needed to-

“ _Strun bah!”_ she heard Miraak snarl in frustration, causing her to turn her gaze from the writhing tentacles above them to see what had caught Miraak’s attention.

Nephthys’s eyes grew wide behind the slits of Konahrik when they set on the bizarre creature before them. It was a colossal hybrid of Seeker, Lurker, and… _things_ , its many tentacles and pincers squirming and thrashing violently. Its entire body was covered in eyes, scales, and fanged teeth.

“Molag’s _balls_ …”

The amalgamation then screeched an unholy shriek from its many mouths, and surged towards them.

There was little time for Nephthys to linger, and, for once, her anxiety did not sway her from her purpose. She turned her gaze to Miraak.

“Can you keep that _thing_ distracted while I try to open the portal?”

Miraak grunted a reluctant “yes” and marched to Hermaeus Mora’s Keeper, a bolt of lightning in one hand and his staff in the other.

“When I call for you, come back here again,” she shouted in his direction, while drawing magicka from the Welkynd stones. “You need to be close to me or you’ll be stuck here.”

The ritual itself was rather straightforward. Nephthys, of course, was not sure if it would work in practice – especially with Hermaeus Mora’s watching eyes above them. It was her only chance, however, and the mage put all of her willpower into it.

When the Welkynd stones were drained of all magical strength, Nephthys directed the magicka to the sigil stone, concentrating on placing the raw energy inside the orb. Though the shrieks behind her and Miraak’s grunts of pain were loud, Nephthys did not allow them to distract her. Too much depended on her getting this _right_. Either it worked in the first try, or they would both be doomed.

When the orb shimmered a dangerous glow, Nephthys pulled its magicka towards the Varla stones in each end of the platform. While doing that, she caught a glimpse of the Keeper striking a sharp blow on Miraak’s chest using one of its thrashing tentacles. She hurried the pull of energy.

“ _Shor’s bones_ , it’s working,” she mumbled relieved, when the Varla stones were drawn to the orb. They linked themselves to the sigil stone’s magicka, and a white beam of energy, born from the core of the iridescent sphere, connected the three stones. With that, the sigil stone was anchored to Apocrypha, floating by itself at the center of the summit’s platform.

“Miraak!” she called, grabbing a dagger from her belt. She hastily pulled one of her gauntlets midway off and sliced at the exposed flesh.

She glanced at Miraak, who made his way towards her in hassled steps, the horrid abomination lashing its tentacles and pincers while the First Dragonborn made his escape from its grasp. Quickly, Nephthys let the blood dripping from her self-inflicted cut onto the sigil stone.

“You dare… What have you _done_ , Dragonborn?” came the rumble of Mora’s voice from above. Nephthys chanced a glimpse at the Daedric Prince to find his narrowed eyes’ furious stare transfixed on the Dragonborns.

“Here, quickly,” Nephthys pulled her gauntlet back and grabbed Miraak’s arm, doing the same to him as she had to herself. The ever nearer screeches from the Keeper did not escape her keen hearing, and Nephthys was fast in getting Miraak’s blood – “ _by the Nine, it’s so black_ ” – on the orb.

“I call upon the forces of Oblivion! Heed my words and answer my plea,” Nephthys cried out as the blood settled within the sphere. “Ours are the blood and flesh of Mundus, the soul of Akatosh! We are not of this realm! With the magicka imbued in these stones, I command you to release those who do not belong here! As this anchor breaks, so shall Oblivion’s hold on those they have no right to claim!”

“Dragonborn…” Miraak said in warning. The Keeper was at a very dangerous distance from them.

Nephthys grabbed the Staff of Magnus, and pulled Miraak closer to her, grasping his arm with her free hand. Hoping to all Divines and some Daedric Princes that this would work, she blasted a surging beam from the staff towards the sigil stone, shattering it with the magic.

The last thing Nephthys heard was the eerie sound of the orb breaking and freeing the magic inside, accompanied by the shrieks of the eldritch Keeper and Mora’s own thundering voice sputtering words she could not understand.

Then, her vision was engulfed in white, and, no matter how forcefully she shut her eyes, there was no escaping the light. Nephthys lost consciousness while still holding onto the other Dragonborn’s arm.


	3. Shattered Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’d had little expectations for the Dragonborn’s ritual. Miraak had agreed mainly to spite Hermaeus Mora one last time before his (former?) master ultimately killed him. He had not believed it would actually…_

Miraak was slow to recover his thoughts.

The last thing he could recall was… being in Apocrypha. He had been battling the Last Dragonborn at the Summit of Apocrypha… And then…

There was… light. He remembered a blinding white light, and something about…

Magic? A ritual?

Miraak opened his eyes, but what he could see through his mask’s slits was blurred. He could distinguish a mass of black and blue in front of him, but no definite shape to it. He wondered if it had anything to do with the… ritual?

Yes... there _had_ been a ritual. Miraak remembered the sound of the Dragonborn’s accented voice behind her mask, as she delivered a ritualistic clamor to the stale air of Apocrypha…

And then… The magic shattered through the atmosphere.

_“[Mey kro dovahkiin…](.)”_

Miraak was unsure of what had truly transpired. Between the throbbing of his head and the blur of his sight, it was uncomfortable to give chase to his memories. Regardless, they were all coming back to him, at their own slow pace.

_“[Bormahu aaz](.),”_ Miraak mumbled under his breath as acute pain coursed through his body when he tried to move. He decided he would continue to lay on his side for the time being.

Strangely, as Miraak’s consciousness tentatively came back, he realized he could not feel the eerie cold of Apocrypha, nor the unpleasant smell that permeated the realm.

He’d had little expectations for the Dragonborn’s ritual. Miraak had agreed mainly to spite Hermaeus Mora one last time before his (former?) master ultimately killed him. He had not believed it would actually…

The mass of black and blue in front of him moved, disturbing his already fragile line of thoughts. Amidst confusion, Miraak blinked a few times, waiting for the sight before him to become more distinct.

Armor. It looked like… Armor. Greaves and boots.

Miraak had seen that armor before…

_“[Laat dovahkiin qah](.),” _ he thought.

That meant… _she_ was there. In front of him.

Miraak, then, heard shuffling of metal and cloth nearby, but the Dragonborn’s armored figure was no longer moving. The sound of steps became audible as the shuffling noise advanced.

“…swear to the Nine, if she got herself killed,” he overheard a gravelly masculine voice behind him, approaching gradually. “I will take that staff of hers, and I will-”

“There! By the stairs!” another voice interrupted.

Miraak heard the steps hurry towards himself and the other Dragonborn. He was caught by surprise when strong hands turned him around on his back, and grunted when the abrupt movement brought back the sting of pain, which enveloped all of his limbs.

His shaky vision focused marginally, and Miraak could see the outline of a woman’s face above him. A Nord, whose brown hair was tied back, shaved off at the sides. Midst the black war paint covering part of her face, Miraak could distinguish blue eyes staring at him in confusion.

“He alive?” asked the first voice beside them.

“Looks like he’s breathin’,” the woman replied. “Not sure if he’s awake though. What about Neph?”

“Seems unconscious,” the male said, though he seemed less worried than before. “I am trying to wake her.”

Miraak heard some more shuffling, and chanced a glance to his side, where the Dragonborn was lying down. A tall figure dressed in black and scarlet was trying to pull her up.

“Hey,” the woman called him, turning his head to her, “you awake?”

_“[Nid](.),”_ Miraak grunted forcibly.

“Serethis, darling,” he heard the man say, “can you stand by yourself?”

To Miraak’s surprise, the Dragonborn’s voice echoed through the air.

“I’m fine,” she said, curtly. “What about…”

Miraak heard the heavy steps approach him and the Nord woman. Now that his vision was no longer blurred, he could make out the shape of the jagged pauldrons and the breastplate the Dragonborn was wearing.

Then, her gauntleted hands were on his chest, sending healing magicks into his core while the other two figures watched intently. The bolster of the restoration spell was far too comforting for Miraak to object to being healed, and he simply let the magic work its way through him until most of the soreness in his body was gone.

“Miraak. Can you stand?” the Dragonborn asked, and her hand to him. Miraak brushed it off brusquely, standing up slowly.

_“[Nid laan aak kriist, dovahkiin. Zu’u pruzah](.),_ ” he said tersely, feeling a mild ache on his back. Not all of the pain had waned with the Dragonborn’s magic.

Miraak blinked slowly as he turned his gaze towards the Dragonborn. She was staring at him expectantly behind the slits of her tusked mask, obviously confused by his words. He had forgotten she lacked much of the knowledge of _dovahzul_ he had.

Ignoring her in favor of looking at his surroundings, Miraak realized they were in his old temple. The Tree Stone was at the center, no longer shimmering as he had willed it earlier. He figured his influence over it was cut when the ritual-

The ritual.

“It seems your plan worked, Dragonborn,” Miraak said.

“Certainly seems that way,” she was quick to reply, her softly accented voice echoed with the power of her mask. “Though I think I should check for any leftover Daedric magic on you. Later.”

Miraak merely hummed in response, still somewhat entranced by physically stepping on the stone ground of his temple after all the time he spent away.

“You do intend to uphold your end of our bargain, yes?” the Dragonborn asked.

“Yes, Dragonborn,” he said, rolling his eyes behind his mask. “I gave you my word. I will join you against Alduin.”

She seemed to relax at that response, and motioned towards the other two people present.

“These are Lydia and Sharenius,” she said, though Miraak doubted it was for the sake of introduction only. Surely, the Dragonborn intended to give him a silent warning not to antagonize them. He scoffed.

The Dragonborn’s companions, however, looked at him with interest. Miraak sighed.

“I am certain you already know who I am,” he said.

“Well! What a charming fellow,” the man replied with false casualty, but the battlemaiden remained quiet.

Now that his vision was unobstructed, he noticed the woman – Lydia – was wearing armor as well, clearly made of the bones and hide of dragons. The blade by her side also appeared to be made of dragon bone, as well as the shield. Miraak felt slightly impressed at the design, but was quick to dismiss the thought.

The male, whom the Dragonborn had introduced as Sharenius, was dressed in black leather armor. It seemed far too flamboyant, in Miraak’s opinion, with the intricate ornaments on the breastplate and the scarlet cape. Because of his hooded cowl, Miraak was only able to see his eyes. One crimson, the other violet. Likely an elf, then, he figured.

Miraak saw the Dragonborn turn her back to him to take two vials from the hands of the elf, and raise her mask to drink their contents. Miraak chose to ignore her in favor of looking up at the sky. The clouds were… darker than he remembered, but he could not help feeling a wave of gratitude that they were not green.

“We must leave soon. Where is Teldryn?” the Dragonborn asked Lydia, handing the now empty bottles to Sharenius.

“He’s at the Skaal Village.”

“What’s he doing there? I told you all to stay here.”

“Said it was the only way he’d get you to go there and talk to Frea after this was over with,” Lydia said, nonchalant. At the Dragonborn’s uncomfortable cross of arms, she continued, “come on, Neph. She deserves at least to know there won’t be, ah, _weird_ _stuff_ happening anymore.”

“Indeed,” Sharenius chimed in the conversation. “You do not have to tell her the whole truth, of course _._ Perhaps leave the part where you consciously set Miraak loose on Solstheim _out_ of the picture you paint her.”

The Dragonborn groaned in frustration, which amused Miraak for a brief second, but, in the end, she agreed with her companions. Before she spoke again, she cast a couple spells on herself, which Miraak did not bother to recognize, but assumed were protective.

“Let’s go, then. I’ll make something up on the way. Miraak, are you well enough to walk?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s just get out of here.”

During their short walk to the Skaal Village, Miraak discreetly enjoyed taking in his surroundings. Every aspect of finally being free from Mora’s clutches was a joy unlike any other, but the sheer intensity of _everything_ around him caused his heartbeat to quicken.

The steady weight of snow under his boots. The scent of pine, burning wood, and a hint of ash. The dark clouds in the sky hinting at the blue, timid rays of sunlight peeking through them. Miraak welcome the beauty of the land, even if… _this_ … was somewhat different from his memories.

Though the air was cold, it was gentle and pleasant, unlike the atmosphere in Apocrypha. _This_ cold flushed his skin and caused his breath to become misty in the air. It reminded him of how _alive_ he was. Apocrypha’s bleakness shrouded his body until it lost its natural warmth. It made him far too conscious of how pale he was becoming. How black his blood had turned. How dead he looked like.

Perhaps that was why he rarely removed his mask.

Miraak put aside the unpleasant thoughts of Apocrypha to watch in quiet wonder as snowflakes draped over the pauldrons of his armored robes. It had been countless centuries since he’d seen snow.

He removed one of his gauntlets to feel the snowflakes on his skin. From the corner of his vision, he saw Sharenius turn his eyes to him, but the elf made no comment. Miraak watched as the frosty snow lay melting on his hand, until he glimpsed the hint of a blackened vein and shoved his gauntlet back on.

In the back of his mind, Miraak could not shake off the sense that _this_ would be all taken from him at any second. After millennia in Apocrypha, he had learned that Hermaeus Mora could sometimes be in an especially sadistic mood.

It would not surprise Miraak if this turned out to be nothing but an elaborate illusion.

Yet… it felt too _real_.

The air, the ground, the light, the cold. The very audible noise of the footsteps of the group on the snow. The sound of water nearby.

It was nothing like the trickeries from before.

Miraak was… back. Free, and in the realm to which he truly belonged.

“ _Not by your own doing,_ ” his mind whispered, vindictive. _“You were weak to give in to her words. Pathetic. You may be out of Apocrypha, but are you_ truly _free?”_

His thoughts were interrupted, then, when the group arrived to the village. Miraak felt secretly thankful for having something to distract himself with, though he knew those feelings would gnaw at him later on.

After all, he had willingly put his fate in the hands of someone else _again_.

Miraak chose to stay behind with Lydia and Sharenius to watch the Dragonborn approach one of the Skaal, a burly blonde woman dressed in armor of distinctive Nordic design. Sitting on a tree stump near her, a figure dressed in strange chitinous armor also observed the proceedings.

“Greetings, Frea,” said the Dragonborn, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

“I can feel it. The Tree Stone is free again,” the Skaal woman, Frea, began, her soft voice echoing along the wind. Her eyes were fixed on the Dragonborn while she spoke. “The Oneness of the land is restored. Does that mean... is it over? Is Miraak defeated?”

“Yes. Miraak is dead. He will no longer be a threat to Solstheim,” the Dragonborn said.

Such was the conviction in the Dragonborn’s voice, were Miraak himself not there, alive and watching the exchange, he might have been inclined to believe he was dead.

Frea’s eyes widened slightly, but she smiled.

“Then my father's sacrifice... it was not in vain. He died to free us.”

The Dragonborn nodded solemnly, and Miraak felt compelled to laugh at how utterly _honest_ she appeared, but controlled himself with ease.

“Tell me... was it the only way? Did he _need_ to die?”

“Without your father’s aid, I would not have been able to defeat him. Hermaeus Mora was the one to kill Storn, though. Not Miraak. Remember that.”

At that, Miraak raised his brows in surprise. Was the Dragonborn… _defending_ him? The concept made the situation unfolding before him even more amusing.

“I know,” Frea said gravely, her eyes turning to the snowy ground. Her voice was brusquer when she next spoke, “the Skaal will not forget this. Storn's death will become another of the many tales of Herma-Mora's treachery.”

“Treacherous is the best descriptor for that demon, indeed,” the Dragonborn said in agreement. “I must take my leave now, Frea. I have urgent business in Skyrim. Dragons and the end of our world, you know how it is.”

“Of course, Skaal-friend,” Frea laughed. “But… one more thing, if you will. I know it is not my place, but... may I offer a word of advice... of warning?”

The Dragonborn seemed to hesitate, but agreed to hear Frea’s words.

“As shaman of the Skaal, I am charged with the spiritual well-being of my people. While you are not of the Skaal, you are Skaal-friend, and so I give you this warning,” she began, staring intently at the Dragonborn. “Herma-Mora forced you to serve him in order to defeat Miraak. Do _not_ let him lure you further down that path.”

“Of course not, Frea,” came the Dragonborn’s quick reply. “He had wanted me even before I came back to Solstheim. I refused him then, and I will continue to do so now.”

Frea looked visibly relieved at that. Miraak briefly wondered if she had worried that the Dragonborn might take the same steps he had.

“The All-Maker made you Dragonborn for a higher purpose. Do not forget that.”

“Thank you for your words, Frea,” she said, gesturing for the armored individual sitting nearby to approach her. “Did Teldryn give you any… trouble?”

“Please, outlander. I wouldn’t _dream_ of it,” the armored man, who Miraak presumed was Teldryn, replied. Frea only smiled and shook her head.

“Well, then. Until we meet again, Frea,” the Dragonborn said, a polite nod directed her way.

“Walk with the All-Maker, Skaal-friend,” Frea said, and even Miraak could not help but notice the affection in her words.

When they had walked a reasonable distance, the gaudy elf, Sharenius, was the first to break the silence with a barely contained cackle.

“Fuck’s sake, Serethis, when I said ‘don’t tell her the whole truth’, I didn’t mean _lie through your teeth_.”

“Shut it.”

“He’s got a point, sera,” Teldryn said in a teasing drawl. “I’m actually worried, now that I know you’re such a skilled liar.”

“ _You_ do not have a say in this,” the Dragonborn was quick to reply, turning to pint an accusing finger in Teldryn’s direction. “You disregarded my orders to stay in the temple to go _flirt_ with Frea.”

The man chuckled darkly, and Miraak felt surprised at how neutral the Dragonborn was towards the act of disobedience. It only seemed to be a mild nuisance to her.

“That I did. Alas, it was in vain, sera. She seems to prefer you.”

“We’ve been through this,” the Dragonborn said in warning.

“Yes, yes,” Sharenius interrupted. “Not your type, we got it. You’d much prefer Serana, wouldn’t you?”

At that, the Dragonborn hurried her pace to run away from them.

“Oh, come now, Serethis!” the elf hollered behind her. “Dark hair, pale skin, undead!”

“And gets along with your cat,” Lydia added.

The Dragonborn groaned again, her companions laughing behind her.

“Alright, that does it,” she announced, turning to them. Miraak, who was still walking in a leisured pace behind the group, casually observing their exchange, raised his eyebrows at the outburst. “You guys are going to go to Neloth’s and give him his stupid book, and then meet me back at the Retching Netch.”

Though her companions objected at first, the Dragonborn did not waver in her command, and ultimately they parted ways. Then, when they had been left alone, the Dragonborn gestured for Miraak to walk with her.

The thought that, to the Dragonborn, _his_ company, of all things, would be preferable to the “torture” inflicted by her allies amused him greatly, but he was reluctant to accompany her hurried steps. Miraak wished to bask in his freedom at his own pace. Ultimately, however, he caught up to her, and they walked down the snowy path.

Miraak noticed the Dragonborn had slowed her initial pace to match his, and could not decide if the gesture pleased him or annoyed him. Something about the way that she dismissed her companions, as if she had been but waiting for an excuse to do so, was starting to bother him.

He could not fully understand why it bothered him.

The Dragonborn remained quiet during the majority of their walk, to which Miraak was thankful. However, she eventually started to talk, caution evident in her echoing voice.

“So, how do you feel?”

Miraak hesitated, irritation sipping into his mind.

“About _what_?” he asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Well, you were locked up in Apocrypha for ages,” the Dragonborn said, only marginally less wary now that he had replied. “Now you’re out. That’s got to have some consequences. How are you holding up?”

At that, Miraak felt his tension spread throughout his whole self. _How dare she?_ To act towards him as if he were a wounded beast, and then attempt to be _friendly_? Did the Dragonborn think they would be _allies_? That he would join her _collection_ of dull companions and follow her every command?

“I see what you are doing. I will not allow it. And if we are to have this conversation now,” he spat, staring at her defiantly, “let it be face to face.”

He removed his mask and hood in two brusque movements, and gestured for her to do the same. The Dragonborn was clearly taken back by his response, but obliged, stepping closer towards him and taking off her own mask.

It was the first time Miraak saw her face. And the first time she saw _his_.

As he looked upon her, he regretted the decision of asking her to remove her mask.

The sight before him had more beauty than all he had seen of Solstheim so far, and all his coherent thinking escaped him for a moment.

To Miraak’s surprise, the Dragonborn was a Dark Elf. He had only seen them through his magic, after he’d already been imprisoned in Apocrypha. However, the Dragonborn was somewhat different from the other Dark Elves. She had many traits of the Man-Mer people. Miraak had only seen a few of them, but the soft shape of her face did not lie. Not to mention _her eyes_. A blue so vibrant it could threaten the skies to recede in shame, despite the strange coldness flowing through the color... _Aetherial blue_ , his mind supplied him.

“ _No_ ,” Miraak thought, a little horrified at himself. He refused to _stare into her eyes_ and call them _Aetherial_.

It was too late for regrets, however, because his gaze wandered to all details of her face, instinctively committing them to memory. Her swaying curly black hair, draped elegantly over her chest. The discreet freckles on her cheeks. Her graceful eyelashes, her thick arched brows, and, above all, her lips.

Plump and enticing, her lips were currently pursed in a charming pout, and though Miraak tried his best to _avoid_ setting his eyes on them, he could not help it. His gaze shamelessly lingered on her lips despite how inappropriate he knew the gesture would be.

He pried his stare away from her face, causing his sight to fall on the Dragonborn’s frame. Even with the armor on her short body, he could see the outline of her curves. She held herself in an elegant and domineering demeanor, but her posture faded into pliant and yielding the longer he eyed her.

Taken back by her beauty, Miraak scarcely noticed the Dragonborn had been staring at him, too. He was also having difficulties to recall what he had to say, and, finally, he blinked once and forcibly directed his gaze to the snow. The white, made intense by sunlight, was enough to distract him from the sight in front of him. With his black stare intent on the snow and away from temptation, Miraak remembered, then, the reason they were having this conversation, a surge of wrath coursing through him.

“We are not allies, Dragonborn. We are never going to be allies,” he said, though a tiny part of him was reluctant towards his own words. “Were it not by the Alduin threat, I would have killed you in Apocrypha. Do not ask pointless questions about my well-being, or my _feelings_.”

With the principles of it spoken, Miraak found it easier to continue. In fact, his new confidence was enough for him to set his eyes back on the Dragonborn, and step towards her. He looked down at her shorter form as he carried on, but barely noticed her demeanor growing even colder.

“This is a temporary partnership. Once Alduin is slain, I will leave you. I will not seek you out or hunt you afterwards, but that is the _only_ mercy I will ever offer you. If I do see you again,” Miraak hesitated, but, in the end, he opted to make his position clear. “I will kill your friends, and then kill you and devour your soul _._ Am I understood, Dragonborn?”

The Dragonborn then stepped even closer to him, and her features darkened. When she spoke, her voice was cold and monotone.

“I am not asking because I _care_ about _you_ ,” she stated, factual yet venomous, and Miraak’s instinctive response was a visible wince, though he was quick to compose himself. “I am asking because I must be sure that you haven’t suddenly grown _weak_ , that you’re still _useful_ to me.”

Miraak suddenly felt as if he had shrunk under the weight of her icy gaze.

“You’re only free because I made it so,” she said, her tone still even and matter-of-factly, “and we both know you would be dead were it not for me. I don’t expect your gratitude, obviously, but I fully expect you to be capable of holding your end of our deal”

Her words sprung back Miraak’s earlier thoughts.

“ _You may be out of Apocrypha, but are you truly free?”_

She stared icily at him, and Miraak saw his black eyes reflected on her blues. The boldness of her stare prompted him to stare back just as intensely, and he _felt_ the clash of their dominating natures amidst the tension.

“So I ask again, and you will answer,” the Dragonborn commanded, her voice aloof, but with less malice than before. “How are you holding up?”

Not bothering to hold back his scowl, he tensed in bewilderment at the sheer _taunt_ that was the Dragonborn’s attempt to _command_ him. In spite of his obstinate confidence, Miraak gave in.

“I feel fine,” he replied, letting his irritation flow in the rumble of his voice. “Do not presume that I can be weakened by something so-”

“Then we understand each other.”

Though Miraak was unsurprised by her interruption, he’d expected her to speak further. She did not, however, and merely resumed her walk, putting her mask back on.

A part of Miraak felt mournful once her face was no longer within his sight, and his eyes accompanied the sway of her hips as she quickened her pace. He then shook off the feeling, damning it back to Oblivion, and made haste to walk _beside_ , not _behind_ , the Dragonborn.

The walk to Raven Rock was but a blur on Miraak’s mind. He did not respond to the three companions’ greeting when the Dragonborn and he arrived at the cornerclub. His mind was not aware of his surroundings when the group lingered in idle conversation. Miraak barely registered the moment the Dragonborn said her goodbyes to Teldryn. All the while, his mind replayed their argument in his head, and the only images he could focus on involved the Dragonborn’s vibrant eyes – or worse, her lips.

Miraak was finally startled back to the present when they arrived at the docks of Raven Rock, and the Dragonborn summoned a decaying dragon.

“By the Eight!” the captain exclaimed.

“ _Qahnaarin_ ,” the _dovah_ said, and Miraak was incredulous to hear the downright fond tone of his voice. “Once again, you give me freedom from the enslavement of the Ideal Masters. Thank you.”

The Dragonborn removed her mask and bound it to her belt. Miraak made a point of not paying too much attention to her face, but ended up turning his eyes to her all the same, as she looked up at the undead dragon smiling.

“My companions and I are going back to the mainland, so I thought you might enjoy a flight over the sea while we sail.”

“You know well how I enjoy roaming the skies of _Keizaal_. _[Hi drun pruzah](.),_ ” he rumbled content, and took flight.

Miraak chanced another glimpse at the Dragonborn. She did not know what the dragon said, nor did she seem to realize the weight of those words, but grinned at the _dovah_ all the same.

She approached Miraak, then, to his surprise. Her smile faltered when she looked at him, and it caused a small part of him to feel sorrow – though Miraak could not quite understand why.

“That is Durnehviir,” she said, and her voice had the same wary tone from before. He decided to ignore it this time.

Miraak hesitated, unsure whether he even wanted to speak to her. In the end, the Dragonborn rolled her eyes and made to turn away from him.

“You have strange companions, Dragonborn,” he said, at last.

She stared at him for a moment with her damnable blue eyes.

“I have a name, you know,” she said, and Miraak was pleased to notice her caution had given way to irritation.

“I do not _know_ your name,” he said in turn.

She hesitated, her eyes staring at his own behind his mask, and Miraak decided to _ignore_ the weight of their gaze. Damnable Dragonborn,

“It’s Nephthys,” came the reply then, interrupting Miraak’s thoughts. “Nephthys Serethis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I edit this chapter one more time I'll go crazy, so I hope I caught everything dsgfh  
> Also:  
> If you read my other fic "As Ice Pierces Into Black", then maybe you recognized that it was integrated here, this time in Miraak's POV :D


	4. Redeem the Defiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Already regretting his decision, Miraak approached the mirror, and stared at his reflection._
> 
> _Darkness stared back at him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Emetophobia warning for this chapter. It's safe after the 10th paragraph.**
> 
> Also guys, if you'd like to know more about Nephthys, I have a [character page](http://miraakcultist.tumblr.com/nephthys) for her on my Tumblr and also a [tag for her](http://miraakcultist.tumblr.com/tagged/nephthys%20serethis) :D

Their sail to Skyrim was uneventful, if one ignored the decaying dragon flying along their ship. Miraak kept to himself, and spent his time looking at the sea, dedicating his thoughts only to ripples on the water and pieces of ice floating above in the distance.

He stood in the same position, braced against the main deck’s railings until the combined salty smell of the sea and the ship’s constant rocking made him too nauseous.

Miraak, then, made his way to the lower deck in a brusque walk, feeling the eyes of the Dragonborn’s companions follow him. When he reached the last steps of the staircase, he glimpsed the Dragonborn’s shadow coming from one of the rooms. Miraak made a point to direct his gaze as far from said room as possible as he went to another of the lower deck’s quarters.

He removed his gauntlets, boots, and mask, and laid himself on the bedroll. Though Miraak intended to sleep, the nausea made him far too uncomfortable for that. Instead, he was left alone with his thoughts, and he much preferred to concentrate on his physical discomfort rather than doing any _thinking_.

The isolation Miraak suffered through in Apocrypha had made him used to his mind as his only companion. Now that he was free, however… he was reluctant to continue to isolate himself in his own head. Perhaps, Miraak was even beginning to desire the companionship of others.

Not that he would act on such tiny, flimsy desires, of course.

When he felt the ship stop, Miraak quickly shoved his armor back on, and walked heavily to the main deck. He felt secretly thankful that they had finally reached the docks, but could not find the energy to explore the city with his eyes. He stepped on the stone ground, and made pause to watch his reflection in the layer of ice on the water.

His mask stared back at him, and he knew well what hid behind it.

Just as Miraak had thought he was rid of the seasickness, his stomach gave a particularly violent protest. He barely had time to lift up his mask before he felt an acidic burn making its way up his throat. Miraak painfully spilled a few pathetic drops of acid on the waters below, and grunted in displeasure at the leftover taste in his mouth.

“Are you okay?” the battlemaiden, Lydia, asked. In the distance, Miraak saw Serethis eyeing him in concern, her tusked mask still fastened to her belt. When his own stare caught her blue eyes, she averted her gaze awkwardly to a random direction.

“What do you think?” he grunted in response to Lydia, adjusting his mask back on, then brusquely walked away.

As the group distanced themselves from the docks to enter the city, Miraak felt an unfamiliar ache tug at his stomach. It was different from the seasickness, though no less uncomfortable.

It was not until they had arrived at the tavern, Candlehearth Hall, and the scent of honey, bread, and roasted meat invaded his senses, that he finally realized what the pain was. His delayed reaction was warranted, though; Miraak had not felt hunger in an excruciatingly _long_ while.

More often than he could remember, when he was in Apocrypha, Miraak had wondered if his body would ever go back to the way it had been, if he ever freed himself and stepped once more into the world of the living.

Apparently, Miraak’s mortal needs were indeed slowly coming back to him. The longer he was back, the more he felt it. _Things_ he had not felt in hundreds– _no,_ thousands of years, stuck inside Oblivion and as undead as any daedra.

Could that mean his taint was… subsiding?

One discreet look at the black veins on his forearms, after he had lifted his gauntlets just enough, proved that was not the case. However, daedric corruption or not, he _felt_ different now that he experienced cold, heat, fatigue, and hunger. It showed how far from Mora’s reach he was.

It was both relieving and disturbing to _feel_ again. He was _alive_ , after all. It was just further confirmation of it, and, perhaps, the kind of confirmation he needed. Yet, at the same time, he felt as if he had suddenly become weak for it. Apocrypha’s hold on him had granted him virtual immortality. Now?

Now he was… vulnerable.

It was worth it, though, was it not? If some degree of vulnerability were required to have his freedom, then that was that. Miraak had learned his lesson. No power was worth being someone else’s slave. And, despite his newfound mortality, he was still a capable mage, a fierce warrior, and, most importantly, _Dragonborn_. That alone put him above other mortals, even if their bodies were similar regarding physical needs and frailties.

Miraak watched as the Dragonborn rented two rooms at the tavern. Before he could protest, as he would much rather _not_ share a room with anybody, Sharenius sighed wearily and spoke.

“I do miss actually being able to sleep. Don’t you, Serethis?”

“We _can_ sleep, though,” the Dragonborn said, a strange wicked smile playing on her lips.

“Thrashing from night terrors is hardly _sleep_ ,” the other elf scoffed, and strolled back to the tavern’s front doors. “I’m going for a bite, and then I’ll meet you back here at the upper floor in an hour or two. You want anything?”

“No, thank you,” she said, ignoring the barmaid’s offended stare at Sharenius. Miraak wondered if the food was that bad that the elf would so blatantly announce he would eat elsewhere. Then, Miraak’s stomach protested again, and he could not find himself to care about taste. At this rate, he would eat a _lurker_ if he had to.

“You guys hungry?” the Dragonborn asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Miraak replied almost immediately, and reproached himself for it. Serethis, however, did not seem to be in a mood to mock him, as she only smiled amusedly and gestured for them to follow her.

“To be honest, I just want to sleep, Neph,” Lydia said, and the Dragonborn threw her a key and a goodnight wish before she continued walking to the upper level of the tavern.

After the two Dragonborns had taken their seats at an isolated corner, a blond serving girl approached them. Miraak took his mask off and fastened it to his hip, quietly hoping that no one would comment on the obvious black taint of his face.

“Good evening! Can I get you anything?” she asked, and, to Miraak’s surprise, did not spend too long looking at him.

Instead, her gaze was fixed on the Dragonborn.

“Hello, Susanna,” the Dragonborn said in greeting, “nothing for me, but my, huh, that is- _he,”_ she fumbled awkwardly and nodded in Miraak’s direction while the server flashed a smile at them. “Show him. The menu, that is.”

Miraak deliberately ignored the Dragonborn’s sudden lack of eloquence in favor of browsing the inn’s options, ordering two salmon steaks, beef, and a bottle of mead. He felt somewhat curious to know if spirits would affect him at all just yet.

“I’ll be back soon, handsome,” Susanna winked at him and went to fetch his order.

He raised a brow at the endearment, eyeing her graceful stroll to the tavern’s lower level. When Susanna’s figure disappeared down the stairs, Miraak chanced a glance at the Dragonborn only to meet her eyes staring back at him, and though they seemed impassive, there was a glint of curiosity in their shine. She, again, averted her gaze away from him.

“Why will you not eat as well, Dragonborn?” he asked, part genuine, and part a wish to break the awkward silence that was beginning to settle. Miraak immediately wished to take back the words. Making conversation with _her_ was hardly a requisite to their current… _predicament_. They were not to be allies, after all. Miraak had said it himself.

Serethis, then, stared at him again.

“You mean… you do not… _know_? You didn’t see it?”

Miraak frowned, and, against the rational suggestions his mind provided him with, continued their exchange rather than ending it.

“See what, Dragonborn?”

Serethis lowered her eyes for a second’s pause when Miraak talked, but quickly looked back at him with a mildly surprised expression.

“Blood,” she whispered, her thick brows raised. “Sharenius gave me bottled blood to drink, back at the temple. Did you not see it? I’m a vampire,” she continued when Miraak did not reply. “I don’t need food.”

Miraak frowned. But… the books Miraak had read in Apocrypha about those creatures spoke of black and red eyes. And hers… Hers were blue. A blue of Aetherius and sirens’ songs.

Then again, she was a dark elf. Were her natural eyes not supposed to be blood red? Perhaps the curse made them that color… That blue of sky reflected on sea… Which would be strange, for how could a Daedric curse ever look beautiful?

“ _Nid_ ,” his mind chastised him, “ _enough with this repulsive interest in her eyes._ ”

“I’m not that surprised that you didn’t notice, actually,” she said, idly, still in secretive whispers, “I use some spells to disguise my appearance. Look more like a mortal.”

“Hm. Are you ashamed of being what you are?” he asked, still frowning. He had no love for vampires, but that was because he had no love for anyone. Miraak had never met one in person before, too, and wondered if it was common for them to hide their nature.

Serethis flashed him an enigmatic smile, as if she had remembered a private jest and did not intend to share it.

“I enjoy the power it offers, but it doesn’t exactly bode well for me to walk around looking pale like a wispmother, and bleeding from my eyes, now, does it?”

Miraak valiantly fought against a small smile of his own that began to take shape after her comment, and ultimately lost the battle. As soon as it had surfaced, though, he managed to repress it.

“I’ll be curing myself from this condition soon, though. I became a vampire to study it up close, you know?” the Dragonborn said, her voice only slightly less quiet than before. Miraak noticed her accent more now that Serethis was making idle talk. “But, I’ve already written enough on it on my grimoire, and I reckon I won’t be able to get inside Sovngarde while being… _this_. So, yeah, it’s time. I would have done it earlier, if it weren’t for-,” she suddenly stopped, and her stare became uncertain. “Well. It doesn’t matter.”

Miraak debated whether he should push. He reminded himself that their little conversation should not even be taking place.

“ _We are not allies, Dragonborn_ ,” his own words from earlier surfaced to his thoughts. “ _We are never going to be allies_.”

Yet, Miraak told himself, he was not motivated to speak to her from misguided wishes of _companionship_. Raw curiosity alone had driven him to talk with Serethis. That had been why he’d initiated their conversation, of course.

Miraak avoided deciding whether that was a genuine thought or a self-deceiving excuse before he decided finally to speak again.

“Tell me,” he asked. “What delayed your cure?”

The Dragonborn hesitated, but her eyes were drawn to him when she replied.

“Well, it kind of… was you.”

Miraak had no time to voice his bewilderment at the answer, because Susanna was back with his food. Suddenly, the smell of roasted beef and fish perished any thoughts he had regarding their conversation, and his mouth watered in anticipation.

“You didn't hear it from me,” the serving girl said to Miraak in a conspiratorial tone, as she set his mead and a tankard on their table, “but if you want a _real_ drink, try the Cornerclub in the Gray Quarter.”

Serethis thanked her on his behalf, and gave her a handful of gold coins.

“See you around, my beauty,” Susanna said to Serethis before walking off to another patron. Miraak was far too involved in eating his salmon and washing it down with mead to think much about the server at the moment, or anything in the vicinity, really.

Serethis herself only watched Miraak as he ate, and, from the stolen glances he threw her way while devouring his beef, she was amused.

“What, Dragonborn?” he grunted, annoyed, “I _am_ hungry.”

“Clearly,” she said, grinning at him for a second before her face was made neutral again.

Miraak only stared at her with shifty eyes before he stuffed himself with another mouthful of meat. Despite his lingering hunger, however, Miraak could not help but think how her toothy smile had graced her features charmingly, even brief as it was.

He decided to ignore that grating thought by emptying his mead tankard at once.

“Just leave the stuff there,” the Dragonborn said, right after he’d finished his meal, “let’s go to your room.”

He threw her a suspicious glance and a raised brow, but complied, and soon they were down the stairs.

“I’ll go get a few things, but I’ll be back,” she muttered when they were on the corridor housing the quarters for rent.

Miraak felt confused at her remark; she’d implied she would come back to _his room_ … That they would… _share_ _it_? That was a _preposterous_ assumption, especially after he’d made his intentions towards her clear in Solstheim. Had their talk from earlier cleared her of her inhibitions? Would Miraak need to remind her of where they stood?

Instead of overthinking the matter further, Miraak merely made his way inside, and ogled the bed for a long while before directing his gaze to the planked wall. A mirror above the wooden dresser showed his image.

Already regretting his decision, Miraak approached the mirror, and stared at his reflection.

Darkness stared back at him.

“ _[Dur vahzen rinik](.)?_ ” he pondered in a coarse whisper, frowning at the void black veins tainting his skin.

His face… His _eyes_. He had known they were likely darkened, he had seen distorted images of his reflection on the filthy waters of Apocrypha. Yet, to see his image so _clearly_ … To grasp the mark of Hermaeus Mora’s _ownership_ …

His skin was still so pale, despite the hint of flush on his cheeks… His eyes so _black_ , only a few flecks of their original colors at the center.

Miraak felt nauseous again, for wholly different reasons than before.

In a brusque gesture, he pulled down the collar of his robes, and bared his neck.

_“[Lost zu’u meyz](.)?_ ”

Following his veins and arteries, a piercing blackness coursed through him. The physical manifestation of Mora’s _claim_ on Miraak. True, he was free from Hermaeus Mora’s clutches now, but not from that _corruption_.

To think Miraak had hoped it might have simply faded like his body’s undeath.

It had been foolish to hope. It was _always_ foolish to hope.

Miraak opened his robes, knowing that the sight would only distress him further, but he _had to know_. He needed to _see_ how extensive Mora’s reach over him had been, how much of it showed, _how_ it showed.

And Miraak saw.

Tainted skin over his heart, a terrible core of darkness near the center of his chest, looking almost like a hole tearing through him. Tendrils of his blood vessels carrying blackness, reaching through his body, up to his head, down to his groin and legs.

He was _wholly_ corrupted… _stained_.

It marked him as owned. Hermaeus Mora’s “champion.” _Champion_?

All his time in Apocrypha, he had felt like a _pet_. Nothing but a prized possession. Miraak had been no _champion_ , not when Mora had stripped him of his pride and cursed him with the sight of his realm’s taint on his bare _flesh_.

He scowled at his reflection, black eyes narrowing in rage, until his dark reverie was abruptly interrupted by a persistent knock at his door.

“Miraak?” called the Dragonborn’s voice.

He quickly clasped his robe back on again, and considered whether he should put his mask back on. A small part of his mind suggested it would mean he was _hiding_ cowardly. He damned that thought, but did not wear his mask.

Miraak opened the door to find the Dragonborn standing idle, eyeing him with a peculiar expectation. She was short enough to fit almost entirely on his field of vision, causing him automatically to chance a glance down her body, dressed in navy silk robes with a starry pattern.

Miraak quietly realized Serethis’s armor did her curves a major disservice. The shimmery fabric clung to her wide thighs, and her cleavage hinted at lavish breasts. He suppressed his desire to let his eyes linger any further, and hastily forced his gaze back to the Dragonborn’s eyes.

The expectation on the Dragonborn’s stare had given place to confusion. Miraak perceived, then, that they had spent too long a moment making eye contact in silence. However, he sensed Serethis’s continued hesitation in speaking, and was bewildered at what she could possibly want. In his room. With _him_.

“Do you…,” Miraak said, squinting his black eyes, “Do you intend to _join_ me in my room?”

“What?” her sky blue eyes widened. “No!”

“Oh,” Miraak replied intelligently, feeling an irrational hush of disappointment tug at the corners of his mind. He ignored the feeling. “Good,” he added, in haste, “I would like to… enjoy my privacy.”

Serethis frowned strangely at him, eyes still just as wide as before.

“Wha-, I, well- Then I will not _intrude_ for long. May I come in?”

Miraak stepped further in the room to give her passage, almost tripping on the washbasin besides the dresser.

“I, uh, know you’re probably tired, but,” the Dragonborn began, and Miraak was pleased to see she was no longer using her overly cautious tone with him. In fact, her soft voice sounded almost pleasant now, even with her strong outlandish accent. “Remember what I said, back at the temple? About… checking for remains of Daedric magic on you?”

He frowned, remembering his reflection from moments earlier.

“Yes.”

“I… Well, your face is… you know” she said, looking at him ruefully.

“Yes, I _know_ ,” he said, irritation growing within him. Was bearing his own scrutiny not enough? Must the Dragonborn also point out the extent of his corruption? “Is there a reason to this?”

Serethis shifted in place, but did not falter.

“I just want to know if… if you’d like me to cleanse it.”

“Cleanse it?” Miraak repeated. He had assumed that Serethis had meant the _intangible_ remains of Apocrypha’s influence. Magical holds that might risk him being taken back to the realm of a sudden. He had not accounted for the _physical_ manifestation of Hermaeus Mora’s hold.

Miraak felt unsure. He had always been uncertain whether Apocrypha’s corporeal claim on him could ever be erased.

Then again, he had been wrong about the Dragonborn’s magic before. And… if it was possible… of _course_ he would like to be free from it.

“You are able to remove this?” he asked, and immediately reprimanded himself for the note of hope in his voice.

The Dragonborn walked towards him in a timid pace, but Miraak could sense the presence of her dominating _dovah_ nature all the same. It felt as if she were holding herself back out of politeness. At least, Miraak considered in his thoughts, she was no longer approaching him as if he might pounce on her.

“Well, I have always had a great deal of knowledge about Daedric magic. I’ve acquired even more in the recent past. I think I can get rid of it, yes,” Serethis drawled, wearing a cordial smile on her lips. “Not all at once, though. It would be too dangerous, since it appears to be… well. In your blood.”

Miraak did not need even a second’s pause to consider her offer.

“And… do you wish to perform this cleansing _now_?”

“If you’re alright with it, yes,” she replied, shrugging. “Should all go well, it will tire you out further, so it’s best to do it when you are about to go to sleep already. It won’t take long, I promise. I’ll do it and go, and then you can… er… _enjoy your privacy_.”

“Very well,” Miraak grumbled, but try as he might, he could not hide the anticipation from his deep voice. “Do it, then.”

The Dragonborn twitched uncomfortably.

“I, huh… I’ll need you to lose the robes.”

At that, Miraak’s black eyes widened. She needed him to _what_ now?

“I need to have access to your chest area,” she said, quickly, perceiving the change in his demeanor. “T-the corruption seems to be in your blood, so, you know, um, your heart,” Serethis’s voice suddenly sounded dry. “I need to start from around your heart. You don’t need to take anything else off. Just… just show me the chest.”

Miraak stared at the Dragonborn for a long while, half absorbing the information, half feeling amused with her fumbling, before replying.

_“[Ol hind, dovahkiin](.),” _ he muttered, and made quick work of opening his robes and baring his torso, the blackness of his taint almost merging with his abundant chest hairs.

“R-right, so…,” Serethis said, her blue eyes traveling quickly from his face to his chest, lingering there before they were back to his face again, “just lie down on the bed. On your back.”

Sighing, he obliged. Miraak only hoped he would not fall asleep in the middle of the cleansing. He forced himself to think beyond the sudden comfort of pelts and furs on his skin.

“Keep your arms lined up on your sides,” said the Dragonborn, removing the white velvet gloves she’d been wearing. “I don’t know whether this will be painful. So… brace yourself, just in case.”

Miraak thought about closing his eyes, but then Serethis was suddenly _close_ by his side, one hand hovering above his naked chest. Though her body did not emanate heat, and Miraak now knew why, he still felt warmth spread over him when she finally laid her cold hand on his skin, touching him firmly.

He saw as the Dragonborn’s gaze intensified in concentration, and she focused her magic, left hand on Miraak’s chest, and right hand holding a glowing soul gem. A golden glow emanated from her left hand and spread over the tainted core of his torso. Miraak felt an odd sharpness tug at his blood vessels, but it was more uncomfortable than it was painful.

“The taint is not just in your blood vessels,” Serethis said, almost idly, as her stare bore into his bare torso, “I see now… Some of it flows along your blood, but some seeps into your flesh.”

“Save your pity, Dragonborn,” Miraak replied curtly.

“I don’t pity you. I’m just commenting about it.”

“Well, do _not_.” Miraak said after a pause, looking at Serethis intently. His vision was somewhat blurry and his eyes ached with the same sharpness tugging at his insides, but he could see Serethis’s scrutinizing gaze locked in him. Her blue eyes were attentive, focused... and though he found them to be just as beautiful as before, something was off about them. Through the blur in his sight, Miraak could see hints of red peeking through the blue. Her disguising spells must have been waning.

“Shall I speak of something else, then?” the Dragonborn asked, her dunmeri accent prominent now that she had her attentions mostly on the magic. “Perhaps of your hair? Or your beard? They’re a mess, you know. Did the older Nords not groom themselves?”

Surprised by the change in subject, Miraak realized then that Serethis must have been trying to distract him. For a brief second, he considered chastising her for it, but in that moment a particularly irritating sharpness from the spell pulled at his neck. He decided to take Serethis’s silent offer.

“Did you think I had proper tools in Apocrypha?” Miraak asked, sneering without bite, “This was not by choice. I could not even _bathe_ there, Dragonborn.”

“That explains a lot,” Serethis smirked at him, and her magic became more intense then. Miraak almost voiced his discomfort, then, but the Dragonborn spoke still. “Dunno about the bathing part, but I can help you with hair. I’ve a spare comb, and Sharenius has some stuff to help take care of that bear you’ve got on your face.”

“Forgive me if I doubt the efficacy of your delicate comb, Dragonborn,” Miraak provoked, though his tone was more teasing than taunting.

Serethis merely raised her brows at him.

“You look at my curly ass mane, and you think whatever I use to tame it won’t work for you? Please, Miraak.”

They continued speaking idly as she purged the black ichor of his blood. Miraak’s initial resistance towards Serethis’s attempts at distracting him were all but gone. By the end of the spell, though, Miraak felt completely drained of all his energy, and his voice was but a lazy low whisper as drowsiness crept up into him. Even Serethis’s speech seemed to falter, as if she were being affected as well.

“I think that’s enough for now,” said the Dragonborn, hesitating before removing her hand from him. The sudden lack of contact caused Miraak to mourn her touch for a short moment before the tiny lucid part of his conscience made him disregard the feeling.

Miraak sat up on the bed, head dizzy and body aching.

“I can see your eyes mostly proper now, you know,” said the Dragonborn softly, putting away the now fractured soul gem in a satchel attached to her robe's’ belt. “They’re very… green.”

“How very eloquent, Dragonborn,” Miraak mocked in a low drawl, but stood up to face the mirror once more.

She was correct… In spite of his irises still being mostly surrounded by black, round pools of mossy hazel green with hints of amber had replaced the small streaks from before. His skin was no longer so sickly pale, and the darkness of his veins seemed less intense as well, though Miraak still looked... corrupted.

“Three or four sessions should cleanse you completely,” Serethis said, already at the door. She eyed him strangely, now hesitating to speak. “Go-… I… we ride to Whiterun before dawn. Be ready.”

“Very well,” Miraak replied.

He heard Serethis close the door, and lazily removed the rest of his armor. When Miraak laid himself on the bed again, cozy under the furs, he was quick to give in to his exhaustion.

For the first time in thousands of years, Miraak’s sleep was peacefully dreamless.


	5. The Fire Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _No,” she immediately thought, “I will_ not _think about…. him, of all people…. doing_ things _. He’s not even my ally. He’s an asset. A weapon, even.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this is where i change the rating to explicit  
> my apologies for the delay here. i've been trying to post every other friday but i had a bad case of the flu for almost all of june and then i had writer's block just to top it off, so, suffice to say, i only managed to get shit done this week lmao  
> anyway, enjoy!!

The moment Nephthys left Miraak’s room in haste, she mentally thanked the Divines that she’d had enough tact left in her head not to slam the door behind her.

Clear to the vampire’s acute senses, the sound of her pounding heartbeat betrayed any attempts of fighting doubts with logic. And, to add to her problems, because clearly they were not _enough_ , all her mind could do was play a mantra of questions in a vicious loop:

“ _Why_ did he say that? Why did he _say_ that? Why did he say _that_? _Why-_ ”

Nephthys ambled over to the base of the stairs, and glanced over at Candlehearth Hall’s upper level. Sharenius was not yet back from his midnight feeding.

She had time, then, to take care of her constant stream of distressed thoughts. Whether or not Nephthys _knew_ how to was a mystery. In the end, after a moment’s hesitation, she opted to run to the tavern’s washroom and lock herself in, breathing heavily.

 _Breathing!_ That by itself was a clear sign something was wrong. Nephthys was a vampire; she did not _need_ to breathe unless she was speaking! _Why was she breathing at all?_

…To say Nephthys was _tense_ was the same as equating dragons to flying geckos.

She glared at her reflection in the foggy mirror, seeing her face staring back at her behind scratches and dust. There was bloody red among her icy blue eyes, and her cheeks looked sunken. Damned spell. Due to the mess inside her mind, she had not even realized that it was fading.

It was _all_ Miraak’s fault, she thought, irritated.

In spite of the sane part of her wanting to forget about all of it and _resist_ , the fresh image of Miraak’s black haired chest and well-toned stomach displayed vividly to the front of her mind.

And, of course, there was the _thing_ he had said earlier.

 _“Do you intend to_ join _me in my room?”_ the memory of Miraak’s voice rumbled inside her head.

Oh, by the Nine, that _voice_ …

When Miraak had asked her, such was Nephthys’s shock that she had barely had time to think before replying to the absurd question. Where in _Oblivion_ had Miraak’s thoughts wandered that he might think Nephthys would share a room with him or- or even, perhaps, _do_ _things_ …? What was he _thinking_?

She knew the answer to that question, though, when he next had spoken.

 _“I would like to… enjoy my privacy,_ ” he’d said, and that deep pitched, guttural voice had sent unwelcome vibrations from her head to her toes. Nephthys was sure that, despite the general nonchalance of his tone, there was a sultry note unspoken in that sentence. Thankfully, her self-control had been enough for her to be more or less composed right then.

At the moment, however, her self-control was fading along with the illusory mask of her spell.

So, Miraak was going to… _enjoy_ his privacy.

The mental image, showing up uninvited on Nephthys’s mind, caused a spike of arousal between her legs.

 

_What in Oblivion was wrong with her?_

 

Clearly, she had been spending far too much time in Sharenius’s company. That elf’s _filthy_ mind was beginning to rub off on _her_. That had to be it. It _had_ to be.

Nephthys gripped the washbasin and avoided her reflection. From the corner of her eyes, she analyzed the room. No windows. Door locked. She had plenty of privacy of her own to _enjoy_ , if she so chose. Perhaps even plenty of time to dedicate herself to the task, since there was another washroom. And, of course, plenty of imagination to inspire herself with, especially when she remembered the warm skin of Miraak’s chest under her hand-

“ _No,”_ she immediately thought, “ _I will_ not _think about…. him, of all people…. doing_ things _. He’s not even my ally. He’s an asset. A weapon, even.”_

A rather attractive one, she mused automatically, remembering their cleansing session. The sight of his bare torso, his toned abdomen, the black hairs all over his chest. Tainted or untainted, the sight was affecting her.

“ _This is wrong; I was cleansing him as a favor! I shouldn’t think of-, just... no!”_ Nephthys halfheartedly chastised herself, and was rapidly losing the will to continue to do so. If Miraak could so openly declare his intentions of pleasuring himself to Nephthys, would it truly be so wrong of her to follow a… similar course of action?

Whatever she decided, Nephthys knew she would _not_ get those thoughts out of her mind anytime soon.

Mentally reprimanding herself one last time, she decided to give in.

Nephthys pulled the skirt of her navy robes up, lean her back on the washroom’s wall, and put a modicum of distance between her thighs. She licked two of her fingers and reached into her already wet sex.

Biting her plush lower lip, Nephthys began to rub near her clit. She started with simple circular motions, almost methodical, just enough so she’d be able to get it _over_ with and finally purge the wicked thoughts away from her mind.

It did not take long for Nephthys to pick up her pace, sliding her fingers back and forth, first close to her clit, moving back to her entrance to re-slick her digits, and then rub directly over her sweetest spot, wave after wave of pleasure coming along with each wet slide.

Uninhibited, Nephthys thought of what Miraak must look like touching himself, and muffled a weak moan. She wondered, more eagerly, how he must sound like.

Automatically, Nephthys recalled his groan of approval, back when they first met in Apocrypha, when realizing she was Dragonborn. Nephthys, obviously, had been busy being _paralyzed on the ground_ to pay much mind to the sound, but now…

An embarrassing noise tried to escape her lips, but she swallowed it down. The filthy sounds of her quick rubbing was more than enough to make her aware of her depraved state.

How Miraak must sound like, all deep groans and hoarse moans. She recalled his lazy whispering at the end of the cleansing, low pitched rumbles sending such vibrations to his chest that Nephthys could feel his speech on her palm.

She moved a hand to one of her tits, fondled her nipple while lightly gripping her breast. All the while, Nephthys slid her fingers rapidly over her clit, felt the throb of her quickened heartbeat on her digits, mind replaying the sound of Miraak’s voice, both from memory and imaginary moans.

Her climax arrived quickly, with sounds of Miraak still playing inside her head, and Nephthys bit on her lip so hard that fang broke skin.

She stood with wobbly legs, and it took her the good part of a minute to clear her head from her post-orgasmic daze. She darted her tongue over her lips and the faint taste of her own blood immediately heightened her senses to their vampiric normal.

Which, of course, meant the rational part of her head came back.

…By the _Nine_ , _why?_ Of all things she could have done, between meditation and drinking blood, she had gone and…

How would she even _look_ at Miraak’s face after she’d just _masturbated_ having him in mind?

Nephthys saved herself from any further self-chastizing thoughts, however, because her acute senses indicated an undead presence nearby.

Sharenius…

Oh, if that disgraceful _prick_ ever found out what had just transpired in that bloody washroom, he would never let her live in peace again.

Nephthys was quick to recompose herself then.

She washed her hands in the basin, reached into the satchel fastened to her belt to grab a satiny rag, and cleaned the wet mess between her thighs.

After she felt she was relatively clean enough, Nephthys let her skirt back down and smoothened the navy silky fabric. With one swift movement, she cast Guise of Mortality, and her vampiric visage was replaced with an impassive mask resembling her mortal face.

The puncture on her bottom lip was still visible, and a simple touch of Necromantic Healing closed the wound. Nephthys looked at herself thoroughly, tamed her wild curly hair as best she could, and, once convinced there was nothing suspicious about her, made her way out of the washroom.

By the Nine, all she wanted was to forget about that damn ordeal. At least her judgment was no longer clouded by… improper thoughts.

Even though it had been quite a while since she’d climaxed so hard from only her own hand…

She forcibly ignored that line of thought, and went to meet Sharenius.

Throughout the night, as they talked and played card games while her mortal companions slept, her anxiety gnawed at her. Sharenius had eyed her strangely when she’d greeted him, but had said nothing.

Surely, if he _somehow_ knew, he would be teasing her about it by now. Right?

Or… he was biding his time before endlessly tormenting her.

Eventually, Nephthys relaxed. There was no indication from Sharenius’s behavior that hinted at him _knowing._

However, there was still the shame for her actions.

By the nine, she had touched herself while thinking of Miraak. _Miraak!_

How, indeed, _would_ she be able to face him again? _Especially_ when she next cleansed him?

Then again, why should she care so much? Miraak clearly did not. _He_ had been so nonchalant while telling her he’d be _enjoying his privacy…_

Unless…

 _“Unless he was not being suggestive,_ ” her mind supplied.

Nephthys had to suppress a groan at her obtuse behavior. Of _course,_ the man had just wanted privacy to sleep in _peace_. Miraak likely just wanted to spend his first night as a free man without anyone’s scrutiny, especially considering he had been under a Daedric Prince’s prying for so long. Her own traitorous mind just _had to_ sail to waters she never wished to cross.

Well, _shit_.

Nephthys sighed heavily.

“...-all your Elder Scrolls to the College-... Nephthys Serethis, were you _listening_?” she faintly heard Sharenius ask, his hoarse voice exasperated.

“No,” she groaned. “Fuck.”

Her cursing caused him to raise his brows and give her a fanged smirk, his eyes glancing knowingly at something behind Nephthys before falling back to her.

“Oh, this should be good… What were you thinking about, sweetling?”

She met his violet and crimson gaze with her own icy stare.

“It is not your concern,” she replied, and, before he could insist and push the subject, she stood up from her seat. “It is time for us to go, let’s wake Lydia and Miraak.”

Surprisingly, she was able to say his name without her voice faltering. Nephthys supposed that was a good sign.

It did nothing to ease the pangs of guilt.

“Um,” came the familiar voice from behind Nephthys.

She turned around and saw Lydia, wearing the linen trousers and shirt she was used to having underneath her armor.

“Serethis,” Sharenius began, tone no longer teasing but serious, “what is the problem? You have been acting off all night.”

“It’s nothing,” Nephthys responded curtly, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Lydia said, and eyed her with concern.

“Is it about Miraak?” Sharenius questioned, of a sudden, and caused Nephthys immediately to turn around and face him. _Why in Oblivion was he bringing that up now?_ And in front of Lydia? If he’d wished to murder her, why not use one of his blades instead?

 _“What?”_ she spat, thankful her voice had not faltered.

“No one’s blaming you, Neph,” Lydia was quick to say, as she walked around to stand beside Sharenius. “With the way he is, I’m actually surprised you could hold off for this long.”

Nephthys’s whole body tensed.

How could _Lydia_ , of all people, know?

Nephthys could understand it if Sharenius had known about it - of course he’d have the nose for perversions, being a master pervert himself. But Lydia had been in her room the whole time until now. Had Sharenius somehow told her? Or had she overheard Nephthys? And what did she _mean_ , the “way he is”? Was _she_ interested? But… being so open about such things was so extremely unlike Lydia.

“Look, Serethis,” Sharenius’s hoarse drawl interrupted her thoughts, and he uncrossed his arms to gesture while he talked. “Miraak is a Dragonborn, and judging from what we know, Dragonborns can be… pushy. Frustrating. _Dicks_. Yes, even you, sweetling.”

Nephthys stared at her companions.

And stared.

And _stared_.

“What do you mean?” she asked, cautiously.

“It means you don’t have to pretend for us,” Lydia replied, sympathetically. “Shar and I know he said something to you back in Solstheim. After we left you two alone and headed to Neloth’s… mushroom place.”

Oh. So, it was not about… _that_.

“Just… do not repress your anger, Serethis, it does no wonders to anyone” Sharenius said, taking Nephthys’s silence as hesitation. “Whatever it was that he said, you can share it if you wish. There is no need to put on a façade for us, to pretend it has not affected you, because, clearly, it _has_.”

Nephthys sighed, half relieved. Then, deciding not to let on any more suspicions on herself, she played coy for a little while, then told them as much of their argument in Solstheim as she was willing to share.

“I do not mind his threats,” she said, after summarizing the discussion, “he doesn’t really worry me. But I’m concerned he needs to… learn his place.”

“Yes, yes, I should have guessed. Always with the need to assert your dominance, sweetling,” Sharenius said, grinning wickedly. “Still, I am genuinely surprised that you did not mention this before.”

“I just didn’t want to cause concern. I won’t let him threaten my allies. If he becomes a problem after Alduin, I will see to it that he regrets it.”

Lydia, then, smiled softly at her.

“It’s alright, Neph. He don’t scare us either. We kill dragons for a livin’, don’t we? Plus, we have you.”

“Damn right,” Sharenius said with one of his rare soft smiles, “we have the tinier but angrier Dragonborn with us.”

“‘Course,” said Nephthys, smiling back. On the back of her mind, she felt reassured that her little “secret” hadn’t been revealed, but, at the same time, felt upset. She had not exactly lied to her friends, but something still felt wrong about what she’d just done. Not to mention she had essentially badmouthed Miraak after they’d had a perfectly pleasant conversation only a few hours before.

And then, there was the _guilt_ growing stronger by the second.

“Perhaps I overreacted a bit, though. He’s not as bad as he seems,” Nephthys added, impulsively, “after all, the guy was just pulled out of a thousand-years servitude. I suppose some aggression is to be expected.”

Her companions eyed her curiously, but did not push the subject.

“Well, I should wake him. We must leave before the sun is up, get as much of the dark as possible,” Nephthys said, quickly falling back into her pack leader role, shoving her remorse to a deep corner of her mind. “Ah. I almost forgot to ask, er, Sharenius, do you have any spare tools for personal grooming? For… beards.”

“Might I ask why you need them?” he asked, slightly taken back by her inquiry but amused all the same. “Your nonexistent beard is so magnificent already, sweetling.”

“Not for _me_ ,” she rolled her eyes, “for Miraak. Trust me, he needs it. I’d rather not bring a disheveled bear with us to the damned Cloud District, yes? We need Dragonsreach.”

“Balgruuf is a bit of a bear himself, but Avenicci is an Imperial. He would stare,” Lydia agreed.

Sharenius reached into his satchel while Lydia went off to buy some food for herself. He gave Nephthys the tools, set inside a small satin sack, and then his stare was set on something behind her.

“My, my, Serethis,” he said, smirking. “Disheveled bear indeed.”

Tensing, she turned around. Armored but still unmasked, Miraak stood before Nephthys, a black mass of hair, in all of its unkempt glory, falling behind his shoulders.

“What is it with everyone sneaking up on me today?” Nephthys complained, and quickly shoved the satin sack to Miraak’s hands. She reached into her own satchel and pulled out her spare wooden comb. “Last door of the right corridor on the lower level. Do something about... this,” she gestured vaguely to Miraak’s face.

Miraak scowled, eyes groggy, but took the tools in hand.

 _“[Shul ni orin lok](),”_ he muttered, grumpily, and the _Dovahzul_ in his morning voice sent a familiar shiver to Nephthys’s spine. _“[Rul ni dii vahriin]()…”_ and he walked away in heavy steps down the stairs.

“Aw, he is _grouchy_ in mornings,” came Sharenius’s snide remark. “I shall round up the horses, and _you_ ,” he pointed at Nephthys’s chest, “need blood.”

“Say that louder, would you?” She chastised halfheartedly, “I don’t think quite enough people heard you,”

The group met half an hour later at the stables, all armored and, in Nephthys’s and Miraak’s case, masked. The stables keeper, Ulundil, stared with unease at Nightsteps, Nephthys’s revenant unicorn. His unease only increased when Nephthys summoned the spectral Arvak for Miraak.

“He’s a sensitive boy,” she stared pointedly at the slits of the First Dragonborn’s mask, “be gentle with him.”

“…Of course?” came his reply, and Sharenius snickered behind them, mounting his gray steed. Lydia only shook her head, but smiled from atop her spotted mare.

They rode, then, to Whiterun, quick and steadfast. Nephthys led the group, with Sharenius and Lydia riding behind, and Miraak much further away. The purple light of Arvak’s flames was distant, occasionally becoming a mere dot before Miraak caught up to them.

Wishing to use as much of the dark as possible before the first irritating rays of sunlight dawned, Nephthys had them keep an unwavering pace. They ignored any bandits and warlocks, and Nephthys even forced herself to resist taking on a nearby dragon. When the sun finally started to come up and her skin itched, they were only halfway from Whiterun.

With the sun up, Miraak seemed to fall even farther away from the rest of the group, Nephthys noticed when glancing behind a few times. He always caught up to a more respectable distance soon, but seemed to slow Arvak to watch his surroundings often.

Nephthys was about to berate him for sightseeing, but then realized _why_ he was doing it.

It’d likely been millennia since Miraak had seen the lands of Skyrim in person.

The scholar inside her wondered to know just what was different. Miraak had been alive during the height of the Dragon Cult. Labyrinthian, for instance, would have been a massive city instead of a massive crypt. He likely held so much ancient knowledge about his time, from the cities that no longer existed to magicks now forgotten. Not to mention Miraak had been a high ranking priest of the Cult. Imagine, the things he must know!

Nephthys quickly suppressed that line of thought.

Miraak was not likely to share that information with her. He’d probably repeat his entire “we are not allies” argument.

Perhaps, Nephthys mused as she rode, she could try persuading him to an exchange. Knowledge for knowledge… She considered the idea as she led the group past yet another bandit camp.

They finally arrived to the Whiterun stables when the midday sun shone bright in the sky, and both Nephthys and Sharenius were complaining about their sensitive vampiric skin. Miraak was the first to dismount his horse, and Arvak disappeared back to the Soul Cairn immediately.

As Nephthys and the others rounded up their mounts, she noticed Miraak watching his surroundings with rapt attention. His mask obscured any expressions his face might wear, his posture was impassive, and so Nephthys could not tell whether he was feeling happy to be home again, or upset about how much things had changed.

She wondered, then, why she cared, and tightened the bindings on Nightsteps a little too harshly before quickly rectifying her mistake.

“I guess now’s as good a time as any,” Nephthys said as they walked the road to the gates, “to think on how in the blazes I can convince Balgruuf to let us trap a dragon inside his castle.”

“Oh, you will need to make a very good case, my sweet,” Sharenius drawled. “He is one of the few politicians I have seen who actually give a damn about his populace. He most certainly will _not_ be thrilled about putting them in such danger.”

Nephthys sighed, eyes wandering to Lydia, who was giving her the same unimpressed stare Sharenius wore.

“He’s right,” she said, “not to mention the whole situation with the civil war. Don’t expect it to be easy, Neph.”

“I don’t,” Nephthys scoffed, but frowned behind her magical mask. She spared a glance to Sharenius again, but then caught sight of Miraak, a few steps away, still doing his sightseeing and paying no mind to the others’ conversation.

She immediately remembered the first time she’d summoned Durnehviir to Skyrim, and how he’d flown for hours, looking at every part of the land and sky with no care for anything else. Nephthys had sat on the grassy field, watching the decaying _Dovah_ dance among the clouds, smiling at his occasional Shouts of excitement.

Miraak was now behaving much like Durnehviir had, Nephthys thought, except for the fact that she could tell he had been ecstatic about being in Skyrim again. Durnehviir had told her, much later, about how different it all felt to him. Even so, though he felt burning nostalgia for the home he knew, Durnehviir could still feel its essence in _“Keizaal nu bok,”_ the Skyrim of the current times, as it were. Not to mention he relished in being free from the torment of the Ideal Masters and the Soul Cairn.

As the four of them entered the city, Nephthys wondered if Miraak felt the same way as Durnehviir did. After all, their situations shared similarities. Both bound for thousands of years to a plane of Oblivion, and then wandering the world again…

Upon casting her eyes in the direction of Dragonsreach, Nephthys decided to stop thinking of Miraak, and think of _Balgruuf_ instead.


End file.
